


ocean blue

by dingletragedy



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ballum Big Bang 2020 (Eastenders), First Love, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Summer Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:01:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25492762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dingletragedy/pseuds/dingletragedy
Summary: “You saved my life, I think,” Callum says, quiet and distant below the stars.“Yeah?” Ben whispers. Everything feels weighty, suddenly.“Yeah,” Callum echos. “Don’t know much longer I’d have lasted.”“You saved mine, too.”And Callum knows, at that moment, that he’ll see Ben everywhere, in everything he does, until he never sees him at all. Because there’s a moment in which somebody becomes so much a part of someone else, they can no longer be recognised as two separate people.This is Callum’s moment.summer romance au. callum spends his summer away from the city, ben lives down by the coast. there's never been a better time to fall in love.
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 77
Kudos: 109
Collections: Ballum Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone!!!! my ballum big bang is finally here - the very last one - and i am super nervous about this.
> 
> i've worked sooo hard on this and i think i am very proud of it? but I'll probably change my mind in a few hours! mostly, i'm just shocked i managed to complete it. it's been the strangest few months for everyone, and when i signed up to the big bang, i thought i'd have all the time in the world to complete it, having just lost my job due to covid. skip forwards a few weeks and i have my job back, only with extra days and hours added on! i've just worked sixteen weeks straight in a SEN school and it's been the biggest challenge of my life. doing that, every day and all through the easter holidays & half term, as well a completing my big bang has been very tough, and near impossible, really. i nearly dropped out of this so many times, and only a few weeks ago i barely had 5k words.... lmao 
> 
> but here we are, over 35k words later and yeah... it might be a bit messy in place, or downright shit, but it's been so so so fun working on this little project and i'm quite proud of this baby so i hope you enjoy it!!!!
> 
> i also just want to say thank you to absolutely everyone who has supported me through the last few months, in every which way, i couldn't of done this without you guys, i know that for sure. @ballumory for being my biggest cheerleader in everything i do. @toallyradioactive15 fobeing so kind and always offering me words of support when i need them the best. @halfwayinit for being the best person ever, always cheering me up and making me believe in myself. @callumsmitchell for being my best friend and most patient person ever with me. and all these guys for always being so wonderfully kind about my writing, i can't even tell you how much it means to me: @siennablakes, @bqnmitchell, calthighway, @callumsxbeanie, @kay_okays, @leblonde4, @juguitos, @softballum... just... all my mutuals <333
> 
> ANYWAY, here's some important things about the fic:  
> \- i have basically moved the whole of eastenders down to the coast - croyde bay - to be precise. except for callum and lola, who are proper east enders still.  
> \- callum is 21 and ben is 20  
> \- i have kept a lot of things canon from their childhoods. for example, jonno and phil are still dicks. but phil walked out of ben's life when he was still a kid.  
> \- warnings / spoilers follow !!!  
> -there's a lot of discussion surrounding sleeping pills & insomnia, in chapter three there's a scene that involves an accidental overdose on prescribed medication. if that's something that will affect you in any way, please skip it. look after yourself first and foremost <33  
> \- there's a little bit of homophobic language towards the start, again, please skip if you feel you need to  
> \- and finally, there's a lot of talk of grief in chapter three, mostly memories of paul / callum's mum.  
> \- oh one last thing, there's a single scene told from ben's POV because i just couldn't get it to work any other way, it's all in italics so it stands out! 
> 
> i have no idea what i'm rambling on about anymore i am very tired but basically... i am petrified about posting this, i hope it's okay, i hope you all like it, and love you guys a hell of a lot. enjoy x

**12 hours ago**

London is shit.

London is - it's like this: London is where Callum was raised and where most of his memories are rooted. His friends are here, and he'd always expected to want to stay in London for the rest of his life, even if he travelled, even if he’d made a career of the Army, he’d always expected to end up back here. Because London is brilliant and energetic and he's never been more in love with a city. There are millennia of history buried in the concrete, in the arches and domed cathedrals, the structure of the mosques and the deafening ring of the Big Ben.

London is brilliant, but London isn't home. It can’t be 

It’s stifling, suffocating, even. He can’t stay here, not now. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Before now, there have only been very few moments in Callum’s life that have felt defining. Coming out to his Mum, heart in his throat as she met him with warm eyes and an acceptance he’d never known before. His Mum dying, taking her last breath as Callum slept soundly down the hall. Joining the army, his Dad packing him out of the door, the words _, you’re no son of mine_ , being met with harsh eyes and tight fists. Leaving the army, a broken leg and heart in tow, returning home only to regret it instantly. 

Those were moments forever engraved in Callum’s mind. But this; this is something else entirely. 

  
  
  


The flat is quiet. In all of Callum’s years living cupped up in this tiny place, it has never been so quiet. If the windows weren’t open and letting in the sounds of the streets below, the clubs and bars and more shops than time to count - which they were, most of the time - it was loud from the inside, from his Dad, Stuart, all the waifs and strays, dodgy dealers or police, and before, his Mum. It had been loud when Callum left for the army, and it had been loud when he returned. It had never occurred to him that there might be a time when it wasn’t.

Callum can pinpoint the exact moment all the noise vacummed through the cracks. It wasn’t a gradual process, it didn’t take a night for the change to come, barely even a minute, just enough time for Callum to utter three words. _I’m gay, Dad._

“Hey, mate,” a voice says from the darkness that’s crept over the kitchen, snapping him out of his thoughts. Callum doesn't turn towards it.

“Callum,” Stuart says, louder this time, concerned, but not comforting. 

“Your brothers talk to ya, don’t just ignore him,” the second voice comes. 

“What do you want me to say, Dad?” 

“If you could start by showing some respect, that would be nice.” 

“Oh,” Callum says, hard and cold. “Like you’ve shown me, you mean?” 

Stuart, for all his faults, looks guilty. Looks like he wants to dart across the room and shield Callum. Jonno shakes his head. "You're ripping this family apart, son."

“What family?” Callum says, a huff of cold laughter leaving his lungs. “We haven’t been a family since Mum died, you and I both know that.” 

“That—Callum, that ain’t fair,” Stuart speaks up.

“No, I’ll tell you what ain’t fair,” Callum starts, feeling braver than ever before. “Dad kicking me out, packing me off to the army because I dared to be myself. Dad telling me I was only welcome back if I’d got all that _faggot shit_ out of my head. And the pair of you, treating me as if there’s something wrong with me because I’m gay. _That_ , that ain’t fair.”

“You're my son,” Jonno starts, and Callum just sighs, deflated, because he’s heard this all before. “I ain’t letting you bring those thoughts and behaviours under _my_ roof.” 

“Good job I’m leaving then, ain’t it?” 

  
  
  
  


**now**

They’d left in the darkness of pre-dawn and driven with the sun rising beside them, gold and orange light blinding and soft against their eyes, Lola playing with the radio beside him. She puts on the Courteeners’ Summer, and Callum lets himself hope, finally. 

He practically tumbles out the car door when they finally come to a stop, a cloud of red dust trailing behind them. The air is suffocating, yet freeing in a way that only summer by the ocean can be.

“I’m melting,” is the first thing Lola says as they step up onto the terrace of their caravan, dramatic and disdainful as she tugs the thin, neon-bright fabric of her dress away from her chest. Bright light reflects off her sunglasses as she surveys their surroundings, hands on her hips. 

”It's not even hit the mid-twenties yet, Lo,” Callum says as he fumbles with the keys given to them at the campsites' tiny receptions desk. Sweat has formed in beads along his hairline. “Besides, the sea is literally on our doorstep, won't take us long to cool down.”

The park they're staying in, _Bay View_ stretches itself along a huge strip of coastline. It begins down by the boat ramp, there’s an old wooden bridge there, cracked and worn, which leads to the miles of golden sand, dunes standing tall at either side. 

In the other direction, the land curves up into a gentle incline, the road giving way to a bakery, half a dozen cafes, ice cream huts, beach bars and a corner shop. It's packed in tight and the road is all red-orange dirt, the type that stains the bottom of your feet. 

They spend their first afternoon in a comatose state, the two of them staying loose-limbed in their respective deckchairs, the exhaustion of the long drive catching up to them. Soon, teenagers start to flock back from the beach, hair whipped up into sandy messes, children with burnt shoulders and ice-cream sticky fingers, giggling their way home.  
  
At night, the park comes alive, children riding their bikes up and down the short lanes and dumping them at the small playground in favour of kicking a football around, kicking dry sand into their freshly cleaned hair. The heady, distinct scent of barbecues drifts around them, and in the distance, the thudding beat of aga doo plays. Men walk lopsided back to their campsites with giant buckets in their hands, seawater slopping over the sides as they lug their day’s worth of crabs back. 

“This is going to be the best summer yet,'' Callum says, smile as bright as his words. “I can feel it.” 

“Well, then,” Lola says, turning to face Callum, glass raised in anticipation. “Here’s to the best summer of our lives. God knows we deserve it. _Cheers_.” 

He’ll drink to that. “ _Cheers_.”

Callum wakes up near suffocating at half four in the morning, which wasn’t exactly part of the summer escape plan. The light in his room is bright, like daylight, and even with the windows open the air is stuffy and too hot. He groans and kicks his duvet off, shifting with a wince against the bed as he moves to drag some clothes on. 

He’s three steps from the front door when he hears a voice behind him.

 _“Cal,”_ Lola hisses, head poking out her bedroom door. “It’s four in the morning. Where the hell are you going?”

Callum stops, closing his eyes for a second, willing the tears that have been pooling there away, before turning on his heel.

“Just getting some fresh air,” he says, voice horse, throat like sandpaper, and then for repetition’s sake, because it’s the same discussion every time, he adds, “couldn’t sleep.”

It’s a warm night, or at least as warm as British nights ever are. He’s in his grey joggers and a t-shirt, hair all over the place and a pair of scuffed Vans on his feet. He hadn’t bothered looking in the mirror; he’s probably not a vision of perfection, though, if Lola’s face is anything to go by.

He just needs to get out.

“Callum, you need to take your sleeping pills,” Lola whispers, voice soft and gentle. “That’s what they’re for, to help you sleep. It’s okay to need them, y’know? It ain’t a weakness or owt.”

“I know,” Callum says, trying to convince who, he isn’t sure. “I know that. I’ve already had one Lo, they just don’t always help—“

Lola opens her mouth to interrupt, but Callum shakes his head, gives her those puppy eyes that he knows will work every time. Loa just raises an eyebrow, glowers at him, and Callum winks, they both know the battle has been won.

“Sorry that I woke you,” he whispers, before flashing her an apologetic smile and stepping out the front door of the caravan.

The air cool hits him right in the face and for the first time since he went off to bed at eleven, he feels like he can breathe again. He feels the air rush through him, lungs filling and releasing in a rattling rhythm, and he rubs his hands together – soon realising he probably should’ve bought a jumper, but he can’t go back now, there’s no way Lola will let him escape twice in the dead of the night, and so he sets off down the street with a yawn. 

_He reckons that’s irony, or something._

_Karma, maybe._

The air is sharp and the streets are blissfully silent, save for the low rumble of a car now and then, the flashlights few and far between. He doesn’t know these streets yet, and it’s a welcoming feeling as his trainers tread against the gravelled path. Without thinking about it, his feet take him towards the water; it’s another foreign feeling, opening your curtains in the morning to the stretch of ocean blue. The water is comforting to him in a way he never thought it would be. Callum, he’s felt so lost for years, but he thinks he could get lost in the water, lost and not begging to be found. 

The air is cooler down at the beach and he laughs to himself as he walks across the bridge, stops in the middle. His Mum always loved the water, he remembers the way her eyes would light up so sharply when they’d make their annual trip down to Bournemouth. She had these crystal blue eyes that put the brightest of seas to shame, and she loved the waves, always taking Callum into the water, they’d spend hours there; just the two of them, learning to surf or climbing the rock pools, Stuart too. His Dad was only interested in the surrounding pubs. _Fuck,_ he whispers, and he loses his breath at the thought, has to close his eyes and count to ten, and suddenly the rush of the waves is too loud.

Maybe he should go back to the caravan, he thinks, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, any of it — the whole trip. It’s as he goes to turn back to the road that he hears the flick of a lighter and the scuff of shoes. 

He wheels around to the other side of the bridge, to be met with someone standing directly opposite him. He’s wearing a black denim jacket, jeans matching in colour and boots too. As though he feels Callum eyes on him, he turns, smiles brightly in the dark as he leans back on the side of the bridge.

“Hi,” he says, softer than he looks. “Sorry if I scared you, or whatever. Not used to people being here so late, is all.”

Callum blinks through the dim beach lights, attempts to make him out more clearly. He’s beautiful, Callum thinks, there’s no denying that. He’s shorter than Callum, with these piercing blue eyes, Callum thinks he could get lost in them, properly, just like the sea. Callum can’t see much more of his face, but his jawline casts shadows down his neck and his lips are bitten pink, and yeah, he’s very beautiful.

“No, s’okay,” he says as he rests his forearms on the overhang of the bridge and waits for this boy to turn back to the water, too. “I uh, wasn’t expecting anyone else to be out of this time, sorry if I’ve you know, ruined your ritual, or whatever.” 

“Nah it’s cool,” he says, “I don’t make a habit of hanging around dark corners in the dark, I swear.” 

“Beautiful, ain't it?” Callum says, thinking out loud, dropping his head to run a hand through his hair. 

“Hm,” the boy muses, eyes flicking up and down Callum’s body. When he meets Callum’s eye again, they’re impish and coy.“You’re not from ‘round here, are you?” 

“No,” Callum laughs into the dark. “I’m just visiting for the summer. You come here a lot, then?”

The boy cocks his head, non-committal.

“Yeah, I like it best when it’s dark and quiet, though,” is all he says, and then, “I’m Ben, by the way.”

“Oh-Callum,” he says, suddenly, inexplicably, very nervous. “Callum Highway.”

Ben laughs at that, deep and rolling, “yep, you’re definitely a city boy.” 

“Couldn’t sleep?” Callum questions on the back of his own laugh. And suddenly it all feels so intricately personal, it scares Callum, the way he’s wanting Ben to turn around and ask him his darkest fears and deepest regrets. 

“Something like that,” Ben says, “but I suppose you already know that, considering you’re out here too.” 

“Yeah, suppose I am,” Callum says, scooting that little bit closer to Ben. “Your powers of deduction are rivalled by none, mate.”

Ben hums another laugh; Callum likes it.

They fall into a silence at that, and the water is loud, waves crashing with intent, and Ben’s arm is warm where his coat brushes Callum’s elbow. He’s exhausted, shaking from it, and yet here he is, looking over the horizon, just shy of sunrise, making no attempt to move as long as Ben’s in his company.

“Why can’t you sleep, then?” Ben asks suddenly, and just like that, the water silences itself.

“Oh, you know, not sure really,” Callum says, trying to keep his voice calm and collected, despite the fear picking up a whirlwind in his mind. “You?”

Ben shakes his head. “Couldn’t possibly tell you.”

“Sounds ominous,” Callum says with a smile, and Ben grins over at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Reckon I could fall asleep here,” he murmurs. “Stupid, ain’t it? Could fall asleep right now, and then when I get home I’ll be wide awake again.”

“Mm,” Callum says, checks his phone. It’s late. “I should probably get going.”

“Yeah, me too, could do without another earful from Jay if I’m back after the sun rises,” Ben points out with a fond smile. 

“Jay?”

“Oh, my housemate,” Ben clarifies, “and brother, kind of.” 

Ben stands from where he’s been perched over the railings with a yawn, rolls his eyes at himself. “You headed that way?” he asks, gesturing up the right of the bridge. Callum nods, and he smiles a little goodbye.

“Ah right,” he says, “well, I’d offer to walk you to your door but that might be a little too dramatic, even for me.” 

“Cheers, mate,” Callum laughs, and then, “I’ll always remember the non-offer, anyway.”

“Well, it was nice to meet you,” Callum holds out his hand. Ben scoffs at it and pulls him in for a hug instead. 

“Get some sleep, yeah?” 

“You too.” 

Ben laughs as he turns to walk away. Callum, hopeful, follows the curves of Ben’s body. 

“Hey, Callum?”

Callum looks over his shoulder. Ben has his lips bitten into his mouth curiously, eyes trained on his.

“If you, uh,” he scratches at his jaw, looking shy all of a sudden. “If you need some holiday company, let me know. The pub down the front gets pretty wild on a Friday night.”

Callum’s lips curl into a smile. “Really?”

“No,” Ben laughs. “But I can offer you free jagerbombs and great company.”

“And who might that be?” Callum questions, teasing.

Ben grins. “Me, obviously.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Callum muses.

“Excellent,” Ben chirps. “It’s about time something exciting happened around here.”

They’re stuck in that moment again, just looking at each other with nothing else to say, because embedded in the silence is something weighty and palpable. Something exciting, Callum thinks, looks at Ben’s eyes and sees the sea, looks at his mouth and sees the moon, looks at his eyes and sees the stars. 

“Thank you,” Callum says, sincere. 

When Callum gets back to the caravan, he sleeps for four hours and dreams of warm hugs and tired eyes.

The following evening, Callum and Lola head down to the beach for the second time. It’s dusk now, and as they wade through the dry sand to the water, Callum’s gaze gets caught on the blush of the horizon, reds and pinks and bronze strips of light that splay out like fingers across the water and the sky. He holds his trainers between his looped fingers, sand sticking to his feet as they walk towards the waves over the long expanse of golden grains and dried up seaweed. 

They’ve been invited to a party, well no, Lola has, Callum’s just tagging along. Lola had met this boy at the beach bar earlier this afternoon, Jay, he thinks, and it wasn’t long before she was getting bagging them invites here and there.

The location of tonight’s party is a house right at the far end of the beach where the lifeguard station is packed up for the night and the cliffs hang in hues of falling oranges and rising blues, trailing out into the water in the shine of the moonlight.  
  
They turn off the beach then, trying, and mostly failing, to follow the directions given by Lola’s phone. It’s a slow incline, houses nestled among trees, row by row, stacked up behind each other. Around them, the leaves rustle and cars flash past sporadically, headlights quick sparks of white leading their way in the darkening night. Eventually, one of the cars stops, and the passenger side window rolls down.  
  
“You guys heading up to the party?” The girl calls out to them, hair vibrant red, lashes long and face kind and heart-shaped. She’s got a bottle of wine in her hand, something pink and bubbly. “Need a lift?”  
  
“Yeah, thanks,” Lola tugs Callum along and climbs into the backseat. “Your dress is so cute.”  
  
“Aw,” the girl scrunches her nose up at her. “Thanks, babe. Made it myself.”  
  
Lola and the girl in the passenger seat chat animatedly back and forth and immediately start sharing the wine that’s cradled between her thighs.  
  
“Haven’t seen you around here before,” the girl says, looking to Callum through the wing mirror.  
  
“Oh, we’re on holiday,” Callum says. “Just visiting for the summer.”

“City kids?” 

“How’d you guess?” Callum keeps his smirk small, just enough for his dimple to pop.

The girl shrugs indifferently, face poised. “‘Takes one to know one. I’m Whitney, by the way.” 

“Callum,” he announces, soft and with a beaming smile. He doesn’t know what it is but there’s something about Whitney, something warm and gentle. Something that makes him feel at home. “Oh, and this is Lola - my best mate.” 

They settle into silence as they turn onto a gravel lane, rocks flicking up against the windows. The light from the streetlamps flickers over them in splashes, cut apart through the hanging ferns. Eventually, they pull up on the side of the road behind a long line of cars, music thumping in the distance when the engine is shut off.

Out front, figures are sprawled on the garden with fireflies buzzing above their lips, smoke drifting up into the moonlight. The house is nestled among a thick army of sand dunes and scattered palm trees, and through the open door, Callum can see the cluster of sweaty bodies moving, girls in short skirts and boys in loose tops, a drink in every hand. 

“Come find me later,” Whitney whispers in his ear when they shuffle inside, winking again as she dances away into the crowd, a bottle of wine clung in a firm grip, promising to see Lola soon.

“I liked her,” Lola says. “She was nice.” 

It’s disgustingly hot inside, everything set in a haze, teenagers sprawled out on couches and the floor playing drinking games, kissing in the hall and dancing. Tame Impala is playing, funky bass and nostalgia. Callum feels summer wrap around his bones and settles there.

Lola pulls him through the living room, phone in hand as they head for the kitchen. “When are you going to tell her the bad news?”

“What bad news?” 

“You’re gay, remember?” 

“Oh right. Cheers Lo, I’d completely forgotten that one.”

“Idiot,” Lola says, but she’s laughing as she shoves him lightly. “C’mon,” Lola pulls him through the living room, phone in hand as they head for the kitchen. “We need drinks.”  
  
They settle on the sofa with someone Lola apparently knows the name of. He, _Jay,_ is tucked into her side while Callum rests on the floor by her legs.  
  
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Lola announces abruptly, removing Jay’s hands from her waist and almost tripping over Calum’s legs as she goes.  
  
“Your sister’s mint,” Jay leans down and smacks his shoulder lightly.  
  
“Oh, she’s not my sister,” Callum says, holding Jay’s gaze as he swallows down the rest of his drink. “She’s my best mate. And no, you ain’t gotta worry about it, I ain’t exactly into them. 

Y’know, _girls,”_ Jay’s face flickers, only slightly, before he smiles easily, eyes loose and hazy, a glint behind them.  
  
“Beer pong time!” Someone announces from across the room, one of Jay’s friends, bottles of alcohol clustered dangerously in their arms. “Winner gets a bottle of Tequila! C’mon.”  
  
“Oh, here we go,” Jay throws his head back and laughs. “This could get messy.”  
  
It’s a terrible game. Callum loses dramatically, has to down many questionable concoctions, and loses sight of both Lola and Jay within the first ten minutes. The music is loud now, slow with a heavy bass, and it pulses through his head loudly, a dull, intermittent thump that has him blinking harshly.  
  
“You alright there?”  
  
Callum blinks again and turns his head, hands braced against the sink as he gets his heavy eyes to focus on the boy beside him. 

He’d recognise that face anywhere, now.

 _Ben._  
  
“You look a little lost,” Ben says, amusement clear in his eyes. He’s leaning with his back against the worktop, an almost empty Kronenberg bottle clutched close to his chest. And God, he still looks as gorgeous as he did lit by the moonlight that night.  
  
“’m fine,” Callum manages. “Ben.”  
  
Ben’s smile widens. _Pretty smile,_ Callum’s sluggish brain murmurs. _Pretty eyes,_ too.

“Well remembered, I’m impressed.”

“Couldn’t ever forget a face like yours, could I?” Callum says, brain not quite working in time with his mouth, unfortunately.  
  
“Oh, that right?” Ben muses, eyes flicking up and down Callum’s body as he takes a sip from his drink. When he meets Callum’s eye again, they’re impish and coy, and he taps his bottle against his teeth.  
  
_“Maybe.”_  
  
“I can see you got roped into playing beer pong, then?” Ben says, taking another sip of his drink.  
  
“Yeah,” Callum says. “Never played it before. Never want to again, either.”   
  
“Mm,” Ben wipes his mouth, and Callum tracks the movement, then gets stuck on the dip of his collarbones, the spot just below his jaw. The curves of his waist. And the tightness of his jeans. “Eyes up here, city slicker.”  
  
Callum smiles slowly, keeps his lids low as he looks back up. Ben is facing him now, leant towards him with his bottle still up to his mouth, almost hiding despite the confident aura that comes off him in waves.  
  
“You’ve got yourself a dangerous set of dimples, there,” Ben hums. “Get all the girls with those, do you?”  
  
“Nah, the boys, though,” Callum says, only just becoming aware of how softly they’re talking, so far away. “Although I don’t actually get many of those either, so maybe—“  
  
“Shut up,” Ben fingers find the bottom of Callum’s shirt, and he tugs him closer slowly, looking up at him from under his lashes. “Wanna dance with me?”  
  
Callum isn’t sure if he’s capable of dancing right now, his limbs are too long and his head is too foggy. But Ben is gorgeous and sharp and possibly _flirting with Callum_. He nods, and Ben drags him out of the kitchen, hands linked loosely as he leads them through the tangles of drunk teenagers and just-barely adults.  
  
Ben presses up close, moves them slow and languid, and Callum goes along with it, fingers resting softly on his hips, only just brushing his skin. 

Dancing soon turns into shy smiles and wandering hands. Dirty looks and curious eyes. Near kisses, never quite there.

After half an hour, when the music has changed from mellow indie turns to straight-up rubbish, they stumble into an empty room upstairs. 

Callum steps in first, and he hears the door click gently shut behind him, feels Ben’s presence, but the light doesn’t flick on. They’re both still, silent aside from their breathing. It’s all so quiet suddenly. 

But then Ben lays a gentle hand on the small of Callum’s back, and all he hears is blood rushing in his ears. Then comes Ben’s forehead, pressed between his shoulder blades, hair tickling the back of Callum’s neck. He can hear Ben’s release of breath, a shaky sigh as his other hand joins the first, as they slide around Callum’s front to rest over his stomach. Callum swallows audibly, eyes fluttering at how gentle it is, at how much he needs.

“Callum,” Ben whispers in the dark. “Haven’t stopped thinking about this, _about you,_ since that night on the bridge.” 

Callum turns in his arms, brings his hands to his face, and kisses him.

He just kisses him. No fears, no what-ifs, no voices in his head, no devil and angel on his shoulder. He just kisses Ben, _kisses him because he wants to._

His entire body slumps with it, falls into Ben’s own with weak knees, _falls, falls, falls_ until he’s crowding him against the door until their shirts rub and rustle together and tips of their noses brush along warm cheeks. It makes Callum inhale sharply, makes him open his mouth wider to try and take warmth from Ben’s own.

They kiss fiercely, wet and harsh and _so much._ Callum cradles his jaw, presses his thumbs in to say _Yes, I ain’t stopped thinking about you either, I’ve wanted this since I first saw you._ Ben unbuttons Callum’s shirt roughly, shoves his hands under the thin fabric and tugs desperately, drags his nails over Callum’s skin to say _I know._ They’re both gasping, both pushing and pushing until it’s almost too much. 

Ben whimpers into his mouth, and Callum feels everything around him just go—blank, hears white noise as the sound reaches his ears, overwhelmed. His shirt is half hanging off his shoulders and Ben’s arms are around his neck, his fingers deep in Callum’s hair as their tongues move in lush velvet swipes.

“God, Cal,” Ben says, shaky and thick. “You should–should just come back to mine and—”

Callum’s phone buzzes, _once, twice, three times._ He sits up so abruptly his head spins, eyes wide in panic. _Lola._

 **_12:17: Where r u??? I need you - now!_ ** _  
_ _  
_ “Shit,” he breathes, searching frantically through the dark for his shirt.  
  
“What?” Ben sits up then, brows drawn together, check blushed pink and lips swollen red. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“Lola,” Callum curses. “ _She’s—shit—I_ don’t know where she is?”

“And who the fuck is Lola?” 

“My best mate,” Callum says, panic rising with every breath. “I left her with this ladans I thought she was alright, but what if—”

“Calm down, she’ll be alright.”  
  
“Oh, fuck,” Callum winces. “She’s going to kill me.” He fires off a text. 

**_12:20: Are you alive?_ **

Lola’s reply comes thirty seconds later, a picture of her snuggled up close to Jay, bag of cheesy chips between them.  
  
“Nevermind,” Callum whispers. “She's dead, _so dead.”_  
  
“Hey, take it easy, city slicker,” Ben crawls forward and drops a gentle kiss to Callum’s lips, eyes amused. “Guess I’ll see you ‘round, then?”  
  
He gets up then, slips his clothes on with so much elegance Callum can’t help but stare. “Yeah, yeah I hope so.” 

Callum watches him go, his head heavy and muddled, limbs useless. He’s sweaty, smells of vodka and _Ben_ , a fresh bruise high on his neck.   
  


  
  


Callum spends most of his day in recovery mode, lying on Lola’s bed in the caravan ordering tonnes of food from whichever restaurant will deliver to this remote campsite. He can’t get the signal on the TV to work, so he ends up just watching reruns of Friends and wishing he’d been brave enough to ask for Ben’s phone number last night.  
  
By early afternoon he’s able to emerge from his chilly cocoon, instantly swallowed up by humid air that’s kicked up. Lola slaps sunscreen all over his back and shoulders, and they trudge down to the beach.  
  
They find a burrow of shade amongst overhanging palm trees, branches dipping over them spindly and long, leaving cool sand. Callum lays on his stomach with his arms under his head, falling in and out of sleep while Lola paints her nails and swears under her breath when sand gets stuck in the fresh polish.  
  
Once the sun starts to dip and the tide draws in, Lola starts to interrogate him. 

“So,” she says, accusing, as she wrings out her dripping hair, “what kept you out so late last night, hm?"  
  
“Oh, nothing,” Callum tries nonchalantly. “Had a bit too much to drink during a round of beer pong, I think. Wasn’t feeling too well, you know how it is.”  
  
“Right,” Lola drawls, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. “Gave yourself that monster of a hickey, did you?”  
  
Callum slaps his hand against his neck reflexively, glaring at her.  
  
_“Callum Highway,”_ Lola teases with a deep drawl, a roll of her eyes and a laugh. “I ain’t sure if I should be proud, or disgusted.”  
  
“Shut up,” Callum gripes, a flush stronger than the sun heating his cheeks. “He was cute.”  
  
“Name? Age? Eye colour? Address?” 

_“Lo!”_

“What?” She questions, ludicrous. “I need to know _all_ the details!” 

“Shut up,” Callum repeats, shoving her onto the prickly grass. “I barely know anything about the lad, highly doubt I’ll ever see him again, to be honest.”

“You forget that I can read you like a book, Cal,” Lola accuses. “Details. Now.” 

“Fine, fine,” Callum gives in. “His name is Ben, he’s just a year younger than me — twenty, I think. Sometimes, when he can’t sleep at night, he spends hours out on the bridge, other times, he’s drinking alone at whatever party he can grab an invite to that night. Oh, and he’s a fantastic kisser.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


He sees Ben in fits and starts after that night.  
  
When the sun turns biting mid-week, he and Lola take refuge on the beach, nestled among the shade of the overhanging palm trees, taking time to paddle in the waves to cool their bodies. By midday, Ben and Jay have joined them. Ben pulls Callum into the water, and then pulls him under, the pair of them acting like a pair of teenagers as they flick water up into the air. The light is kind on Ben’s skin, turns everything about him so bright, and they share soft smiles and quiet words of affection before Ben pulls away again, dipping out of the water and back to his shift in the café.  
  
At the café, he pours Callum a caramel latte and goes heavy on the chocolate sprinkles, a perfectly created love heart floating back at Callum, winking as he slides it across the countertop. They gaze at each other from across the room but pretend they don’t notice the other doing so, and Callum feels something strange stirring in his stomach when he catches Ben watching him and neither of them look away.  
  
On Friday night, Callum watches Ben sit close with a boy with beach-curled hair and golden freckles, and he lets the sand fall between his fingers and rain over his legs like mist, staring through the wavering flames of the campfire and their pressed-close thighs. He traces his fingertips through the sand, pushes them under the earth as far as he can until he finds the dampness, and stays that way until the boy disappears, burnt wood crumbling into ash and littering the beach.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The remainder of the weekend is spent in the laziest of ways. Saturday kicks off with another day spent at the beach with gallons for sickly-bright ice cream being consumed in favour of actual lunch. On Sunday they travel up to the hillsides for the day, taking cable cars to the top, where the cliffs melt into the water and leave pillars out to sea, the waves below forming in barrels. In the afternoon Lola forces them into a coastal shopping trip, Callum’s dreading it initially, he knows what torture shopping with Lola can be. But this isn’t London, it’s different. 

All weekend, Callum thinks of Ben in a distant way. He’d said it himself, it was just a one-off; nothing but a coincidence they’d bumped into each other again. He’s had one night stands before, drunk attachments that have led to a number that goes nowhere, flings that last the length of a burning match until it fizzles out and life goes on without pause. This is just another one of those times; but somewhere deep and dark, Callum hopes the match holds out long enough to light the candle this time. 

He sees Ben again on Monday, a hot, almost unbearable afternoon that cradles sweat in every crevice of his body and sticks his hair firmly against his forehead. When Callum applies another layer of sunscreen to his face, it hardly rubs in. Instead, it slides over his face uselessly, beads of sweat pooled on his upper lip and around the creases of his nose. 

He feels disgusting. _He looks disgusting._

As he walks into the first café he stumbles across, in search of a cool drink, he’s surprised to see Ben behind the bar. Gorgeous and amused at Callum’s misfortune. 

“Well,” he chirps, leaning his arms atop the glass with a tiny smile. It looks almost beguiling, his lids hooded as he rests a hand in one palm and exhales a soft puff of laughter. “You’ve looked better.”

“Cheers,” Callum says flatly. He wipes the backs of his hands over his sweaty cheeks. “What’re you doing here?” 

“I really wish I had a tolerable answer for that,” Ben answers with his signature eye roll. 

“Never pegged you down as the barista type.” 

“I ain’t,” Ben says. “This is my Mum’s place, just offering my unmatched customer service skills for the day. What’s your pick?”

“Something cold. The mango cooler, please,” Callum says, a little desperately. “I’m dying out here. How are you not dying?”

“Aircon, mate,” Ben shrugs and flicks his fringe out of his eyes. He stabs a pink paper straw into Callum’s drink. “Five quid.”

“Five?” Callum pouts. “And here I was thinking I’d escaped London’s extortionate pricing.” 

Ben narrows his eyes, hands stilling over the till. “Fine, have it on the house. Suppose I owe you after the other night.” 

And with that, Callum stands dumbly at the counter with his drink melting everywhere, a little taken back.

“Hey, uh,” he starts, but his voice falters when Ben raises an eyebrow at him. “Would you wanna, like, I don’t know, maybe grab some lunch together, or—or something?” 

They go to a café a few doors down. It’s not cool to spend your lunch break in your place of work, apparently. Last time Callum visited, it had been that first day, when he and Lola had eaten pancakes out the front in the sticky morning air. 

Inside, Sea Breezer mimics that same air, but it’s generated by fryers and kitchen bustle and bodies packed in tight to fit around their tables. The floor tiles are blue and yellow, as is much of the interior, ocean-themed with local newspaper clippings and pictures of staff and pinned up on the walls. It seems oddly homey despite the noisiness of a cafe during the lunchtime rush.

Callum’s attention breaks from a deep blue ocean painting to Ben’s eyes, and in the dim light of the cafe, they’re one and the same thing.

“So,” Ben breathes out. He runs his fingers through the tips of his slightly damp hair, tangled with sand and seawater. The tip of his nose is rosy and slightly sunburnt. “What are you ordering?” 

“What’s good?”

“Everything,” Ben says, eyes lighting up. “Whatever I’m having, I’m having a lot of it. Got a shift at the garage later, and that requires a full belly.” 

“How many jobs do you have?” Callum blinks. 

“Too many,” Ben snorts. “Hey, Logan.” 

“Hey,” a boy leans over the counter with a wink, stretching a hand out to ruffle at Ben’s messy hair. He looks like the embodiment of the beach, hair in blonde curls, face heavily dotted with freckles, eyes ocean blue beneath sandy lashes. 

Finally, his eyes flick to Callum, and the reaction isn’t what he was expecting. There’s a cautiousness there, maybe even a hint of jealousy if Callum squirts hard enough, and he holds Callum’s gaze for a moment before sliding it back to Ben, one hand on his hip. “Who’s this charming fella, then?” 

Ben meets his gaze, and he speaks slow. “Callum. This is Callum.”

“You from around here, Callum?” The boy, Logan, asks, still looking at Ben. 

“Uh,” Callum scratches at his arm awkwardly. “No, I ain’t.”

“Hm,” Logan taps his order pad against his chin, and Ben shrinks a little under the scrutiny of his gaze. He takes in a sudden burst of breath, eyes brightening. “What can I get you both?”

Just like that, the odd, palpable air that’s bubbled the table pops, and Callum can sort of breathe again. 

“Pancakes, please,” Ben says with a teasing smile, “and lots of them.”

“Whatever you want, Mitchell,” Logan replies, grim smiley and unsettling. He turns his back and heads into the kitchen, much to Callum’s relief. 

“Be prepared for the best pancakes of your life,” Ben warns as they sit down at a rickety little table by the window. 

“Oh, I’m ready.”

“So,” Ben drawls, teasing Callum with a soft smile. “You’ve got me where you want me, what’s your game?” 

“What’s your favourite colour?” 

“What?” Ben laughs, brows coming together. 

“Your favourite colour,” Callum says again. “I don’t know much about you, bar your name, I want to know more.”

“And knowing my favourite colour is going to unlock all the mysteries of the universe, is it?” Ben teases.

_“Maybe.”_

“Fine, _fine,_ ” Ben sighs, biting his lip and looking back up to the sky. “Blue, I guess. Yeah, blue.” 

“That’s all you’re gonna give me?” Callum says. Benglares. “What’s your favourite type of blue?”

“I don’t know,” Ben shifts his fingers through his hair. “The ocean, in the morning, when the sun’s hitting it. It looks like it’s alive, all these different shades coming together. That, I guess. What’s yours?”

“Yellow, I think,” Callum says. “Sunsets and sunrises, all those bright colours, burning and brilliant. Reminds me of a new day, the start of something new.” 

“God, we’re like poets summat, ain’t we?” Ben says, gazing upward. Callum giggles.

“Nothing less,” he says. “What do you do in your spare time?” 

“You already know that,” Ben says. “Work, drink, work some more, wander the streets at night, work again. Chase you.”

Callum smiles dopily. “Alright, but what about when you ain’t doing that?” 

Ben watches him carefully, eyes knowing, and Callum leans closer, breaths a width away. 

“I draw, sometimes,” Ben says, and he looks nervous suddenly, worrying his lip between his teeth. “Paint, mostly. That’s about it.” 

“Really?” Callum says softly, inclining his head. _Tell me more, say more, more, more, more_. 

“Yeah,” Ben twists his fingers together. “I don’t tell a lot of people that, though.” 

“Oh,” Callum blinks. “Why not?” 

Ben shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s a sort of, like, always been this private thing for me. Only me.” 

“I’d have never guessed,” Callum murmurs. His heart knocks against his ribcage softly, and he tries not to reach out, to link their hands together in an attempt to ground himself. “You should show me sometime, I mean— if you wanna.”

“Maybe,” Ben says. “What about you? What’s your secret little hobby, hm?”

“I like to sing,” Callum says, deadpan. 

“Really?”

“No, I’m dreadful,” Callum laughs, and Ben laughs right back. “I like to cook, actually. Sounds boring I know, but my Mum taught me as soon as I was tall enough to reach the oven. And then I went to the army, cooked there too. 

Ben pauses, looks up slowly. “The army?”

“Yeah,” Callum bites at the side of his cheek, eyes shifting down. With a sigh, he sits back and lets himself breathe. “Suffered a few injuries whilst out there, the last one was enough to put me out of play.” 

Ben stares back at him, knees touching. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright, it’s just…” Callum makes a vague gesture with his hand, smile tight. “I’ve made my peace with it, mostly.”

“Did you like it?”

Callum contemplates the question, under the table his knees are jittery. “Sometimes. The people, mostly.”

He stares down at his hands, the tiny scars accumulated there, veins flushed blue and purple. He can feel the weight of Ben looking at him, this heat on his face. 

“And how do you feel now?” Ben says, so softly. Callum picks at the skin of his finger, jaw working when he swallows. He can’t pinpoint the sensation in his chest, then, but it feels like a wedge is lodged between his lungs, and he can’t tell if the feeling is good or bad, just that it alters the way he breathes, makes him look up to where Ben is still watching him.

“Different,” Callum says, unable to find a string of words that melt together to say what he really means. _“I feel different.”_

  
  
  


Slowly, but all at once, June turns to July. They stay up late most nights and wake up early most mornings; some days they explore the coast, and other days they explore each other. Nonetheless, every day is filled with Ben, each one warmer than the last. 


	2. Chapter 2

Callum’s just finished cooking tea for himself and Lola, chucking all the dirty pots in the sink for later, when his phone starts to ring with an unknown number.

“Hello?” he answers, half tripping over the TV cable as he moves into his bedroom. He can hear the radio playing, the mellow sounds of Two Door Cinema Club flowing through the caravan. “Hey,” the voice sounds again. Callum pauses. “Is this Callum?”

“Ben? How’d you get my number?” he smiles before he can stop himself, brow furrowed still. 

“Well, it all begun on a heavy vodka-induced night–”

“Say no more,” Callum laughs softly. He barely even remembers that night, yet he flushes a little for some reason, knowing Ben has had his number the whole time. “So, um. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, me and some of the lads are just on our way up to the pub,” he starts. Ben’s voice sounds different over the phone, a little higher, crackly from the weak signal. “I was thinking, maybe, if you wanted, you and your mate, uh, Lola could come and join us?” 

Callum looks up out of the window, where the orange glow is now being pulled away by deep blues and spots of black. “Yeah, yeah. That sounds like a pretty good offer.” 

“I thought so,” Ben says quietly.

The pub is already packed when they push through the glass doors, smoke wafting up from the beer garden and the patio out the front is lit by tiny lanterns. Inside, the sound is a mix of pinging game machines, the solid clack of pool balls being broken up, glasses clinking and tap beer frothing. The band is nestled out in the beer garden, and inside, the set up is simple and clean, long tables that are chipped from years of use, large televisions showing tonight's top pick football. 

Callum spots Ben after a few minutes of searching, looking a little lost as he lingers in the doorway. He’s playing pool across the room, a pint of something golden and frothy in one hand, cue stick in the other as he chats animatedly with the man beside him, hip leant against the edge of the table. 

“Let’s get drinks first,” Lola nudges him towards the bar in the dining room, voice muffled under the noise. 

Callum runs his fingers over a beer mat while they wait, Lola leaning over the counter to look at the wines in the fridge. It’s busy, the bartenders slamming beers and bottles onto the counters at an alarming rate.

“You alright, mate?” one of the bartenders finally approaches them, wiping his wet hands on his shirt. His hair is shockingly blonde but dark at the roots, cheeks ruddy and hot, eyes shiny. 

“Yeah, just a Corona for me, please,” Callum says. “And a white wine, too.” 

“Make that a large,” Lola adds. 

“No worries,” the bartender says, but he seems almost hesitant when he starts to drift towards the fridge, gaze still strained on Callum, eyes squinted slightly. When he places their drinks on the bar, he won’t take Callum’s money, still just staring at him.

“Uh,” Callum says. “Cheers, mate.” 

“You’re that Callum bloke, aren’t you?” the bartender says then. Callum blinks. 

“Yeah,” Callum huffs a surprised laugh. “I mean, my name is Callum, but–”

“Saw you at that party a few nights back,” the bartender leans forward and claps him on the shoulder. “Caught your name but not uh, your number.”

“Oh,” Callum drawls slowly. “I, uh—” 

“He’s actually here on a date, so, y’know,” Lola interrupts. “I hope you find your Mr Right, though.” 

_“Lo!”_ Callum exclaims as she pulls them away from the bar, the bartender looking both challenged and pretty much, gobsmacked. 

“What, you’re taken now, ain’t you?” 

_“Absolutely not_ ,” Callum says, eyebrows raised in an effort to make a stand. “Me and Ben are just, I don’t know? Having some fun?”

“Whatever you say, _baby gay.”_

Ben spots them then, eye contact intense, breaking a path through the crowds. This time it’s his turn to take Lola’s hand, pulling her towards the pool table Ben is now occupying alone. Usually, he’d be afraid of coming off as _desperate, clingy, pathetic._ But at this moment, he doesn’t care, he just wants to see Ben. 

“Hey,” Callum comes up behind him and bumps their hips together. 

“Alright, city slicker?” Ben looks at him over his shoulder, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You made it.”

“Shut up,” Callum murmurs, pressed up against his ear. “Said I would.”

“Hm, I like a man who sticks to his promises,” Ben replies. He leans back into Callum’s body just for a moment, before he ducks forward to glance at Lola. “This must be Lola.” 

“Last time I checked,” she sticks out her hand. “Nice to finally meet the dude who's turned Callum into a pile of mush.”

“ _Lola,_ ” Callum hisses. “That’s not true. Anyway, you can hardly talk!” 

“Calm down,” Ben laughs. “I’m Ben. Nice to finally meet you, too.”

“You ain’t bad, are you?” Lola says as she pulls Ben into a half-hug, as brass and bold as ever. “When he first came out to me, I wasn’t really sure what Callum’s type in lads was gonna be, didn’t think I wanted to know, actually. But you’ll definitely do.” 

_“Oh my God,”_ Callum dispairs. “Lo, you can’t just say things like that!” 

“Nah, she’s alright,” Ben brushes her off, eyes flickering to meet Callum’s with mischief. “So I am your type then? Or would you rather be spending the night with Johnny, over by the bar?”

“Who?”

“The landlord's son,” Ben explains, and then, “y’know, the one who was _dead obviously_ chatting you up just then.”

“Oh, Johnny,” Callum says, cheeks heating at the attention. “I’m not sure he was-”

“Are you kidding?” Ben interrupts. “He was practically drooling all over you. _Pathetic,_ really _._ ”

“Nah, I think he was just being nice.” 

“Yeah, _too_ nice.” 

“You’re not… jealous, are you, Ben?” Lola teases, and it only makes Callum smile. They’ve barely known each other five minutes, but already, they’re teasing each other like childhood friends do. _This could be the best summer yet,_ Callum thinks. 

“No,” Ben dismisses, _“obviously not.”_

It’s then that some friends of Ben’s join the pool table, some faces Callum recognises, and others he doesn’t. _One Lola definitely does._

“Jay,” Ben introduces first, as Jay approaches. “This is Callum, and his best mate, Lola.” 

“Oh,” Jays says, eyebrows raising in surprise. “I know.”

“You know how, exactly?” Ben asks, accusing, with his hands on his hips. 

“Me and Lo kind of, _y’know.._ hooked up a few nights ago.”

 _“_ Oh, _Lo_ is it? _”_ Ben teases. 

“Yeah,” Lola confirms, no shame. “And then again, the night after.”

“Fucking hell, Jay,” Ben laughs despite himself. “And I thought I was the womanizer around here.” 

At that, everyone erupts into laughter, but Callum feels a little uneasy, his throats closing up and his face flushing.

He’s soon back in the swing of things, laughing and joking with people he couldn’t have ever imagined giving him the time of day. 

And then he’s being challenged to a game of pool. Callum has never been good at pool, and he’s a little embarrassed at how brutally he and Lola get beaten by Ben and Jay. Ben is smooth in his hits, lines up his shots with one eye closed and his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. He looks gorgeous, though, hair sticking up in every which way, his shirt loose and startlingly white against his sun-kissed skin, denim shorts washed out and frayed, the line of his calves and ankles smooth. 

By the time they sit down for something to eat, Ben’s sister, Louise, joining them on what she claims is her break, Callum wants nothing more than to push Ben up against that pool table and kiss him silly. He just-he just looks so golden, smiles so bright and laughs so loud. He’s hilarious, in his element joking around with his mates. Callum slides his palm over his thigh under the table, and Ben’s muscles only jump once before he settles, sending Callum a tiny smirk around the lip of his glass. 

The pub is full now, chatter rumbling through the entire building, and they have to shout to each other across the table. Laughter ricocheting up to the roof as Ben teases Jay endlessly, the two of them squabbling and throwing chips at each other. 

“Between the two of you,” Lola says, shaking her head. “You’re like children, I swear.” 

“You get used to it,” Louise laughs. “You’ll be loving them in no time.” 

“‘M not so sure,” Lola teases.

 _I am,_ Callum thinks. 

They get progressively drunker throughout the night, all of them, and eventually, their little group drifts outside into the beer garden. All the plastic chairs are taken, so they huddle themselves into the corner and sit along the wooden bench that surrounds the entire area, bopping their heads along to the music. 

Ben is warm against Callum’s side, and as Lola and Jay fall into conversation, he noses at his messy hair. There are large trees in the garden, they dip forward and create this alcove of safety, pulling shadows from the darkening sky, hazy bronze and orange.

Ben smiles up at him, lashes clumped together and messy. He rubs his thumb over Callum’s bicep slowly, and he doesn’t miss the way Ben’s eyes flicker down to his lips, and then back up to his eyes, tapping his bottle against his lips.

“You’re not very subtle, are you?” Callum says, but he starts to smile, leaning closer.

“I’m not trying to be,” Ben shrugs. “You know what we should do?” 

“What?” Callum breathes. When he turns his head to meet Ben’s gaze, their noses slide together.

“Start enjoying ourselves,” Ben grins, sparkly eyes full of mischief, and grabs Callum’s hand, tugging him up and through the crowd, quick as a bullet. Callum almost trips over his own feet a dozen times, bumping shoulders with strangers and definitely spilling a few drinks as he and Ben slip through the exit and out onto the street. 

Their hands remain clasped as they walk back in the direction of the caravan park. It’s nearing midnight now, a veil of dark blue masking the sky, stars twinkling, peeking through the clouds and settling against the night's skin. 

The wind whips around them, pushing them together as they walk through the moonlight, and cut across the bridge, taking a detour onto the beach. Sand crunches under their feet and Callum finds there’s a soft calm about the beach at this time of night; stars twinkle like fairy lights, music plays softly in the distance, all sound sucked away with the calm waves. 

“Want to sit and watch the sea for a bit?” Ben says, nudging their shoulders together. 

“Yeah,” Callum smiles. “Sounds good.” 

They sit side by side on the sand, leant back with their heads tilted up to the moon and the stars. They seem so close tonight that Callum can almost feel them prickle over his skin, sinking inside of him and making every nerve-ending buzz, white-hot and electric.

“Why did you come here, Callum?” Ben asks, his voice is barely a whisper amongst the crashing waves. 

“Because you practically dragged me,” Callum says dumbly. 

“No, idiot,” Ben laughs, but it’s gentle, caught in the back of his throat. “Not the beach, Croyde Bay? Why did you and Lola decide to move down here for the summer?”

And, _God_. Callum doesn’t know why, but in that very moment things become overwhelming, something crashes down like a barrelling wave, scooping him up and carrying him onto the cliffside. There’s one lone pulse of something so cold inside him, that same hollowness that he’s carried in his chest for so long now making itself fully known, breaking past the facade Callum spent so long fencing. 

“Hey,” Ben leans forward slightly, placing a gentle hand in the sand between them. “You don’t have to say, not if you don’t want to.”

Callum closes his eyes to stop them spilling. He should talk about it. He needs to talk about it, but it hurts so much and he feels so feeble and small, feels ridiculous sitting in this tiny bar in this tiny coastal town, calling it home. 

“I told you that my dad and I never really got on,” Callum says. “There was always this pressure with him. _Do more. Be more. Do as he said_. And you have to understand that I would’ve done that for the rest of my life if it meant I could have kept my Mum just a little longer.”   
  
“Dad never understood me. My first dream was to be a chef, follow in my Mum’s footsteps. I remember, that first Sunday after she’d gone, I cooked her signature roast dinner, I was so proud of myself, and my Dad, he just laughed at me, said I could stop _pretending_ now, that it was time to step up and be a _real man_. But his idea of being a man was worlds away from mine. He resented me for it, hated me, made my life hell every time I so much as thought about doing something I loved; baking, reading, helping people. He wanted me to join the army, continue my Grandad’s legacy and I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do less.”   
  
“Luckily I had Lola through it all. We confided in each other. When everything started to unravel, she was always there, always had a tin of my Mum’s favourite cupcakes or a new book tucked under her arm, a way to try and cheer me up. Only, it didn’t stop me from feeling like I was fucking my family up. I tried to stop being _difficult_ as my Dad would say, I tried to make things better, be what and who he wanted me to be. And that—that’s how I ended up joining the forces, to keep him happy.”

“And on returning from the Army, I was so stuck in this bubble,” Callum continues, closing his eyes against it all. “I was full of so much hate, so much confusion and hurt, I could never think of anything but what I was going to do, how I could escape this place without leaving Lo behind. But she sorted me out, like she always has. One minute I was crying down the phone to her, terrified and so lonely, the next she was telling me to pack my bags and meet her at the train station.”  
  
“And now you’re here?”

“Now I’m here.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben croaks. “You shouldn’t’ have had to deal with all that.” 

“It’s okay—”

“Do you think you’ll ever go back there, home?” Ben asks, his thumb rolling circle over the tight skins of Callum’s knuckles. His skin erupts into goosebumps despite the warm air. “Do you even think of it like that?”

“As a home?” Callum questions, eyes hot and Ben nods. Callum scratches at his jaw, shrugs. “I dunno. I did once. But there’s nothing left for me there to make it a home, now.”

“Nothing?” Ben says softly.

“Only Lola,” Callum says, fondly. “And I love her to bits. I think we’d follow each other anywhere. But sometimes it’s just... I don’t know.” 

“Sometimes it’s not enough, is it?”

“I suppose not. To be honest, I sort of hate everything about it, London,” Callum says. “I always feel selfish when I think that, you know? People come from all over the world to see this city, and I can’t wait to get out. How weird is that?”

“So this is you running away, then?”

“Maybe,” Callum says. “I mean, can you run away when you’re twenty-one?” 

Ben shrugs and reaches for a loose thread by Callum’s knee. The brush of his knuckles is intoxicating. 

“You ain’t ever wanted to leave this place?”

“A hundred times, a thousand times, too many times,” Ben says, eyes honest and blue. “Sometimes I think about how easy it would be to just miss my stop on the train, to keep going and going right to the end and then further still, until he reached the end of the world, wherever that is.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“Well, right now?” Ben questions, half-smirk pulling at his lips. “This pair of blue eyes.” 

It’s so quietly spoken, so reserved that Callum almost misses it. There’s a warmth rising in his cheeks, eyes widening slightly as Ben drops a hand just to his knee, thumb stroking in slow circles. 

_“Ben,”_ he warns. 

And he wishes he could catch this moment in his hands, these words, keep them always, but moments, like time, are made up of downpours; of snowstorms, sunrises and sunsets, things that can never last. _Summers that fade to winters._

“Alright, alright,” Ben says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. Callum watches him carefully for a moment, before he curls a finger over one of Ben’s own, pulls his hand down and holds it tight. “Guilt? Fear? Love, or maybe even the lack of.” 

Callum’s not sure anyone else would be able to make sense of Ben’s words, but to him, they’re as easy as anything. At the thought of disappearing, love comes running like it’s being chased by the devil, it makes Callum cry, makes him feel terrible for even having the thought of abandoning his parents in any of the ways they might have abandoned him. Indifference seems so weak in the face of something that’s taught to be conditional.

“Oh,” Ben adds. “And the sea. I bloody love the sea.” 

“Which ones yours, then?” Ben asks softly, his fingers sliding under the hem of Callum’s shirt. His skin erupts into goosebumps despite the humid air. 

“This way,” he whispers.

They pass the park, deserted now aside from the tiny huddle of teenagers gathered by the swings, just shadows and camera flashes. Anticipation bubbles in Callum’s stomach as he leads Ben across the grass to their door. 

It’s a tight fit inside the caravan. Ben is smaller than him, but there’s still nowhere near enough room. Although Callum isn’t sure he’ll be complaining about _the lack of space_ tonight. As they make it into Callum’s bedroom, Ben is just watching him, resting on the edge of the mattress while Callum lingers by the door, fingers fiddling with the zip of his jacket. 

No one moves to switch the lights on in his bedroom, so there’s just navy shadow and darkness, and Ben dipped in it all. Lashes like faint smudges, hair golden like the sun.

“C’mere,” he breathes, barely a sound. Callum swallows, electricity shocking through him, zapping his skin. There’s some hesitation there too, that same one that’s been holding him back for years now.

But then Ben stretches out a hand, runs his thumb across Ben’s knuckles, fingers coming to rest in the slots between Callum’s own. Callum stutters out a breath, gravitating closer, his eyes threatening to flutter closed as Ben touches him.

He aligns his head up, tugging down on Callum’s hand as he dips his mouth closer, their noses bumping. Callum can feel Ben’s warm breath on his lips, and when he shifts, they brush together, just barely. Callum sucks in a deep breath, chest heaving, and leans down some more.

It’s so, unbelievably, delicate. Their lips meet with a press, cautious yet familiar, and they stay that way for a few moments before Callum pulls away a little, then ducks down again. 

Ben presses in closer, both his hands coming up to cup Callum’s face as he kisses him slow and soft, pulling back every few moments to shudder in a breath, fingertips brushing through the hair by Callum’s ears. His hands slide down to his shoulders, down his front, and Callum’s stomach spikes.

He grabs his hands and kisses him again. 

Under the silent night, it’s just the two of them and their heavy breaths, just Callum’s cut off whines, barely-there as he curls his fingers over Ben’s and holds their joined hands close to his chest, lips chasing the heat of Ben’s mouth, chest shuddering, eyes clenched shut. It seems to last forever, just this _kissing-kissing-kissing_ and when they finally breathe again, Ben looks so gorgeous, lips bitten red and cheeks matching in colour. 

They kiss until they need air. Ben punctuates each breath with a soft kiss to Callum’s cheek, nose, chin, neck - and does it all over again until he’s ready for another go. Callum feels like the teenager he never was, kissing a gorgeous boy in the middle of the night, and getting overheated before they’ve even started anything. 

There’s a buzzing in Callum’s fingertips, something warm, something that’s filling him. The anticipated loneliness of these next few months vanish, whisked away by the tiny bubble of hope in Callum’s chest and the look in Ben’s eyes when he pulls away the next time. 

He doesn’t duck back in this time, though, and Callum peels his eyes open slowly to look down at him.

“Want you,” Ben says, voice barely there. Their eyes are locked together for a beat, as time seems to stand still for them. 

“Lie back,” Callum breathes hoarsely, guiding him gently to the pillows. The air around them is static, their gazes magnetic, made to be drawn to each other. Ben follows Callum’s words hesitantly, eyes wide like saucers, reaching for him.

Callum, lowers himself down his body slowly, keeping their eyes connected. 

He presses one, gentle kiss to the sliver of skin between Ben’s trousers and his shirt, then looks up in question.

Ben is watching him intently. He gives Ben an eager nod, and drops his head back to stare at the ceiling, swallowing thickly.

Callum slides the tips of his fingers under Ben’s shirt, just feeling his skin, and he has to close his eyes for a moment, he’s been waiting days for this. He moves his hands up in tiny increments, and Ben’s back arches just a little at the movement. 

“Been thinking about this so much,” Callum whispers, tucking his fingers under the waistband of Ben’s underwear, feeling the delicate skin there. He wants to suck marks to that spot, wants to kiss his way down, wants to surround himself with the heat of his thighs. _“Thinking about you so much.”_

“Please,” Ben whines. Callum’s sure he doesn’t know what he’s asking for, but he’s much the same; he just needs Ben everywhere, wherever he can be.

Things get a little frantic then, hips rolling against lips, fingers shaky and desperate wherever they can reach. He’s been thinking about this for weeks, about Ben letting him get close enough to touch this way again, letting him press kisses wherever he likes. He feels so breathless, like he’s been _running and running and running,_ from everything; his Dad, London, the army, and now he’s finally halted to a stop, sucking in greedy, heady gulps of air, lungs burning with it. 

After, they come back together on a sharp exhale, and Ben’s hands fly to Callum’s half wrecked shirt to pull him close. There’s little hesitancy now. Ben presses Callum against the pillows, cradling his jaw and gripping at his hip, holds him close as Callum’s tries to stop the little noises bubbling inside him from escaping. 

“Shit,” Ben breathes, leaning up to bury his face into Callum’s neck, kissing the skin there over and over. _“Shit, Callum. That was good.”_

“Ben,” he shudders when Ben kisses wetly at the hinge of his jaw. He threads his hands into Ben’s hair, matted with sea curls, so soft beneath Callum’s fingers. He’s never wanted anybody, _anything,_ more in his life than this, than the hot press of their mouths, the heat of Ben’s hands sliding down his back. _It feels right._

“You’re beautiful,” Ben gasps out between kisses, pressing in hard. “I’ve wanted to tell you that ever since that night on the bridge.”

 _“Ben,”_ Callum says again, because he can’t say anything else. “I ain’t.” 

“You have no idea,” another searing kiss, another hot press of their bodies. “You’re gorgeous.” 

“Kiss me,” Callum breathes. “Don’t stop kissing me.”

 _And Ben does. Or rather, doesn’t._ He kisses a line from Callum’s jaw, to his lips, soft and slow and honey-sweet. Callum can’t help but bring his knees up to curl around Ben’s body, can’t help but push all of his fingers into the hair at the base of Ben’s neck.

“Fuck,” he hears Ben murmur, taking in long, slow breaths against Callum’s lips.

Slowly, he pulls down the collar of Callum’s shirt, and sucks.

Callum tenses his legs around him immediately, mouth falling open as Ben’s teeth scrape his skin. He lets out a high-pitched whine, tugging hard on Ben’s hair. When he’s done, Ben kisses his way up Callum’s neck again and reattaches their lips.

Eventually, Ben falls sideways, coming to settle next to Callum as they kiss gently. He threads their fingers together, heart fluttering in his chest, eyes threatening to grow wet.

His chest feels warm and cosy when Ben curls around his body willingly. Callum, strokes his back, presses kisses to his forehead. It’s so delicate and careful that Callum can feel his heart shaking in his chest.

“Ben,” he says, a low hum.

“Yeah?” 

“I ain’t—" Callum looks away for a moment, fingers tightening their grip against Ben’s. “I ain’t making this all up in my head, am I?”

Ben stares at him, and right in between Callum’s ribs, something presses it’s hands down firmly. “No,” he says quietly. “I don’t think you are.”

Callum flicks his eyes back, hooded and so full. On his lips, a private smile, just for Ben.

They kiss each other quiet then, open-mouthed and all tongue, fingers curled, short nails leaving tiny half-moons. 

“Goodnight,” Ben whispers, as he rests his head on Callum’s chest. His breathing is already growing deeper, his body sinking into the mattress like a deadweight.

They fall asleep like that, curled together, the moon watching on from the window.

  
  
  
  
  


“Morning,” Ben shifts up onto his elbows and turns away from Callum, leaning for his phone on the bedside table. Callum’s fingers twitch at the curve of his body, the soft fuzz of hair a mess on his head, the muted shadows that cross his face and settle there. He wants to touch, only he isn’t sure if he’s allowed. Absently, he brings his fingers to his lips and presses down. Last night still lingers on his tongue.   
  
“Morning,” he sits up slowly, breathing through his nose and closing his eyes as the world tips a little. “Should I, um—do you want me to go?”   
  
The quilt is pooled around his waist, and he curls his fingers among the fabric when Ben glances back at him slowly, chin hooked over his shoulders, mouth a straight line and eyes unreadable. _Callum doesn’t want to leave_. He wants to kiss him again. The thought floats up like smoke, and he swallows as he watches Ben’s eyes shift over his body, as he slowly curls towards him, phone discarded on the bed.   
  
“Callum, we’re in _your_ caravan,” Ben says, voice hoarse and eyes dancing with laughter. his hand is splayed over Callum’s knee and as he leans closer their noses brush, sliding along cheeks. “Why would you leave? Unless this is your way of politely tell me to fuck off?”   
  
“Oh, good point,” Callum whispers back, swallowing thickly again. Ben noses along his jaw, just breathing, a solid weight leant against Callum’s side. Callum tilts his head up slightly, bumps their foreheads together, and softly, like a puzzle piece that’s fuzzy and worn, their lips slot together. “ _Nope_. No, I definitely want you to stay.”   
  
He’s sure he must taste like day-old wine and _not enough_ sleep, but Ben sighs against his lips nonetheless, fingers curling over Callum’s knee until they dig in. Callum lifts his palm to cradle at Ben’s jaw, fingers sliding over and over through the soft hair by his ears, curling closer. It’s already so hot in the bedroom and Ben’s skin is the sunlight under his fingertips, glowing warm and brilliant.   
  
Callum's arms wrap around his waist, thumbs drawing circles on his hips. He runs one palm up the length of his spine and curls his fingers through the hair at Ben’s nape, swallowing the gentle sounds he makes, head tilted back to let Ben’s tongue sweep over his bottom lip.

Callum makes a soft sound, both out of surprise and content. All the places that Ben touches him are warm, lips scalding hot, and they allow each other _one, two, three_ swipes of their tongues before pulling away, Ben smirking as he lays back down on his stomach, arms tucked under his pillow. Callum watches him for a moment, follows all the curves of his body just once, before he’s engulfed by heat and fire and _Ben_.   
  
  
  
  
  


They draw even closer after that night. Some mornings, Callum’s phone will buzz, _up for the beach?_ and Ben will meet him out the front of the park, hair still dripping wet, the cloying smell of seawater and a summer morning. They’ll head down to the waves, or search for seahorses out in the rockpools, diving into the warm, murky water off the back of hired pedal boats, kissing under the sun, Ben’s thighs loosely slung around his hips to keep himself afloat. 

They eat their meals together, too, sometimes in the caravan, mostly in Ben and Jay’s little shoreside house, but always with their feet knocking under the table. It’s not long before Callum starts spending his nights at Ben’s house, the two of them orbiting each other as they cook and clean or just reheat leftovers and be done with it, settling on the sofa side by side, watching some chick flick on the tv, playing music or talking for hours. 

It’s so, so easy.

_Too easy for summer love._

They learn the deeper parts of each other in bits and pieces, lying in the dark, facing the middle of the bed with their hands locked between them.

Ben tells Callum in whispers about growing up by the coast, in his alcoholic father’s pub, and about his abundance of siblings and cousins and all the rest. Tells him about his unlikely obsession with musicals and where the love of painting came from; all the things that disappointed his Dad. Tells him of his Mum, Kathy, her cafe and acceptance of everything Ben’s ever loved.

In return, Callum uncurls the bruised petals around himself slowly, he hides the words in Ben’s skin. He doesn’t like to talk much about his time in the army, or growing up, but with Ben, it feels all too easy. 

He tells Ben of things he’s never spoken aloud, things that have been laid to rest in the back of his mind for so long, shared only between himself and a notepad at three in the morning. He tells Ben about Chris, their young and naive love, and his Dad, the disappointment he shares with Ben’s own. Their shared voices become strained with the disuse of thought, both of them digging through their memories like tugging well-rested roots out of the ground.

But after, Callum always feels better, _feels safe,_ and he tries to make sure that Ben feels the same. They hold each other as they drift off, bodies curled and snug with the blankets tucked around their ears, breaths warm and soft. 

It’s eight o’clock in the morning, when Ben leads him up the stairs of his childhood home, feet treading silently, fingers twisted together. Sunrise has begun, the first whispers of the day swooping over the town in stretched, hazy clouds, feathery and light. Somewhere in the house, a radio plays, the deep crackle of voices sneaking out from under a bedroom door. 

“In here,” Ben whispers, his fingers brushing the small of Callum’s back, slowly opening the door at the end of the hall and ushering them in.

There’s a huge window at the end of the room, frosted over with morning sunlight, spilling in across the floor and igniting the dust that floats through the air. Callum steps inside slowly, letting his eyes wander over the stacks of canvases piled by the walls, some fresh, some covered in sheets, paint splatters the floorboard, dotted with pastels of blue and cream. There’s thick wads of wrinkled pages ripped from multiple sketch books overflowing the drawers of the desk in the corner, sketches pinned to the walls, simple outlines of hands and faces, the delicate shading of the sea and sand the most common. 

“Wow,” Callum breathes as yellow light falls over everything, blinking wide-eyed as Ben brushes past him to crack the window open. He never expected all this, and his heart stutters at it, as he watches Ben watch the sun. 

“When I fall off the grid for a few hours,” Ben starts explaining softly, still looking out across the yard, “this is where I am, hidden away in this room. It calms me, mostly.” 

“You mind if I have a look?” Callum asks, as quiet as he can, still standing in the centre of the room. Ben looks at him over his shoulder, half his face gilded, the other half dipped in gentle shadows. 

“Sure,” he nods after a moment, pushes away from the window. “Go ahead.” 

Callum crosses the room, tugs at one of the sheets covering a particularly large canvas, a thin layer of frosted dust spiraling airily to the ceiling and back down like mist as he does. 

_“Ben, that’s… wow, that’s brilliant,”_ Callum whispers. He has to stop himself from reaching out, from touching the dried paint to see if his fingers will come away wet with ocean water and sand. The colours are stunning, these unbelievable strokes of white and gold, a reflection on the waves, shadows of overhanging, spindly trees creating a picturesque, soft morning down at the beach. The style looks familiar to him, for some reason, and the realisation dawns on him steady and slow, almost like he’s known it all along. “That painting, in your Mum’s caf, you painted that, didn’t you?” 

“I did,” Ben says. There’s a pink tinge to his cheeks. “One of my first pieces, a few years back.” 

“You’re incredible,” Callum says. Ben shrugs his shoulders and looks down at his toes. “Ben, I’m serious. You’re so fucking brilliant. I can’t believe it.” 

“Thank you,” he murmurs. It’s strange to see him so bashful, and Callum bumps their hips together softly, kissing his temple. 

“Show me some more?” he asks tentatively. Ben meets his eye finally, so open and trusting, lashes all spindly and soft in the light. 

“Okay,” he says. “Alright.” 

Callum can’t believe how many there are, these gorgeous, careful paintings that Ben flicks through, some of them huge scopes of scenery, others fine details. There are smaller canvases that are just painted in colours, gradients and swirls with so much depth that Callum could stare at them forever, deep blues that remind him of the sea during a storm, a blushing red that reminds him of Ben’s cheeks when he’s begging beneath him. 

It’s a little overwhelming, this permanent, warm weight settling itself in his stomach, heat prickling over his neck. 

Callum wanders over to the wall to look at the drawings there, soft, pencil sketches on yellowed, ageing paper. He peers closer at one of them, a bridge, the midnight sea, and two familiar silhouettes. At the top, scrawny writing reads; _the beautiful boy on the bridge._

“Is this…” he taps his finger against the edge of the paper, glancing at Ben over his shoulder, who’s perched by the window, watching. “Is this me? Us?” 

Ben flushes, and shrugs, lips twisting together in a hidden smile. “Might be,” he coughs into his fist. “Or maybe it’s me and one of the many the _other_ beautiful boys on the bridge.” 

Callum grins. “It is, isn’t it?” 

“Alright, alright, you got me there,” Ben says quietly, scuffing his shoe on the floorboards, scratching at his arm. Callum stares at the drawing for a while, the rough outline of pen, the definition of his shoulders and detail of his clothing, imperfect and rushed but brilliant all the same. 

“Are there more?” Callum tries to keep the delight from his tone, heart fluttering dangerously. 

“More what?” Ben repeats obliviously.

“Drawings,” Callum says, “of me.” 

Ben is almost scarlet in his cheeks, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, and it’s so incredibly endearing, seeing him work up like this when he rarely is. Callum’s chest is tight with affection, and something else that’s far more dangerous, something that squeezes like a vice around his heart when Ben nods and drifts towards him, reaching for one of the black books from the table, the one on top, leather cracked and worn. He holds it for the longest time, thumbs brushing over the cover, swallowing thickly.

“You don’t have to show me y’know,” Callum rests his hand on his shoulder gently, “not if you don’t want to. If it’s too personal, or whatever. I get it.” 

“Nah, it’s fine,” Ben says, more to himself than to Callum. “I want to show you.” 

He thumbs it open gently and Callum tries not to try too much attention to the detail of the drawings, if he does, he’s scared he’ll say something he can’t take back. They’re leant together, bathed in sunlight and warmth, and Ben finally stops his flicking, thumb jammed in the margin.

“Ben,” Callum hums, a soft puff of laughter leaving his mouth, one of almost wonder. 

It’s a pencil sketch, faded and gentle, from only a few days ago, Ben thinks. 6.32 am _,_ it reads, _sleeping beauty_. The drawing is from behind him, the long line of Callum’s back, sheets pooled around the basket of his hips, hand curled into a loose fist by his head on the pillow, twisted so that his chest is flat on the bed, hair sketched into a messy halo. Callum wonders if Ben sat up in bed and drew him right then and there before he left for work. Or he came here, and sat down at his desk and drew him, from memory. 

“This is so embarrassing,” Ben whines quietly, head rolling back against Callum’s chest. 

“It’s not,” Callum laughs. He wraps his arms around his waist, trails his hands up his arms, loops his fingers softly around his forearms, thumbs brushing the nubs of his wrists. “It’s lovely. No ones did anything like this for me before.”

“Shut up,” Ben mutters. Callum dips forward and nuzzles their cheeks together, tiny firecrackers exploding in his chest when he finds that Bens’ skin is warm, too, both of them flushed. 

Ben shows him three others. One from that first date in the cafe, the shadows of onlookers only a blur amongst them as they share pancakes and a longing stare. Another that he doesn’t recognise of himself, something he suspects has been plucked from Ben’s imagination, a pen drawing of him riding a surfboard, looking more comfortable than Callum ever would be, hair wet and sticking to his forehead, a smile on his lips. The last one is a tiny collection of drawings, an eye, a shoulder, his hands spread on the surface of something, his collarbones, the line of his thighs. 

“Alright,” Ben says. “Enough snooping.” 

They stand in silence together, suspended for a breathless moment. 

“God, Ben, I knew you had a talent, but all of this? It’s amazing, you’re amazing,” Callum says, quiet, slowly turning Ben around in the cage of his arms. “Why didn’t you say anything before?” 

Ben ducks his head, lashes fanned out and golden, the apples of his cheeks gone rosy as he shrugs his shoulders. “There’s not many things I’ve ever been allowed to have for myself, well, not anything I’ve been able to keep a hold of, anyway. But this, this is the one thing that’s just mine, and no one can take that away from me. I’m a pretty private person when it comes to my art.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. Thank you for showing me, though,” Callum bumps their foreheads together softly, and he smiles when Ben finally glances up at him, his fingers twisting slowly in the hem of Callum’s shirt. “You amaze me every day, Ben. I’m so glad I got to see all of this.” 

Ben just nods and rolls himself up onto his tippy-toes, seals their lips together, hands sliding up Callum’s chest to rest over his neck, palms warm, fingertips only just scraping the nape of his neck. It’s gentle, almost too gentle, and Callum is careful with his touches, with his mouth, scared of shattering the delicacy of this moment, of sending bursting colours of paint skidding along the floorboards and covering them. 

“When did you start painting?” Callum asks eventually, shifting to meet Ben’s eyes.

“When I was in secondary school, probably around thirteen? Maybe younger. It was, um—after my dad left. So I don’t really remember.” 

“Oh,” Callum breathes. “I’m sorry.” 

“Things were weird, for a long time,” Ben says, eyes downcast. “He was my hero, or at least I thought so. It took me a while to get used to him not being here, not spending every waking minute trying to be exactly the son he wanted me to be, but disappointing him anyway. It was my little sister, Louise, who got me onto it, actually.”

“I was always getting in and out of trouble as a kid, especially at school, but when I painted, I was always really quiet and felt in control of my own thoughts,” Ben continues. “It just calmed me, I guess. And it stopped me thinking about my dad after a while, because it was something I didn’t associate with him? I don’t really know. I just remember taking to it really quickly, and loving it.”

Callum breathes in slow, still staring as he gathers Ben into his arms, emotions taking hold. He leans his face in close, tucks himself into Ben’s neck and whispers, _“I’m so glad I met you, beautiful boy on the bridge.”_

“Ben, do you – oh!” 

They both flinch, and Callum almost trips Ben over as he scrambles away from him, fingers sliding along his waist and onto his own hips, aiming for casual but coming across flustered. Kathy watches from the doorway, her fingers pressed against her poorly concealed smile, amusement shining in her eyes. 

“Mum,” Ben clears his throat and steps away slowly. “Hey, um sorry I didn’t realise you’d heard us come in.” 

“Good morning to you, too,” Kathy chirps, leaning against the doorframe. She looks slightly surprised, underneath the giddiness, flicking her gaze between the two of them. “I was just coming up to ask if you wanted brekkie.”

“Sure,” Ben says. “That’d be great, Mum. Thanks.”

“Always a pleasure,” Kathy wrinkles her nose at him, then turns her attention to Callum. “You’re welcome to join us, love.” 

With a wink, she shuts the door behind her. 

“Good morning, family,” Ben sing-songs as they make their entrance to the dining room ten minutes later. There’s a chorus of returned pleasantries, some bright and cheerful, others woefully said. Kathy is at the head of the table, chin resting in her palm as she watches the chaos with a tiny smile. 

“So, you must Callum,” Ian, Ben’s eldest brother, questions. “My brother’s latest conquest, you’re brave.”

“Be nice,” Ben warns as they sit down at the end of the table, sharing the same chair. _“Idiot.”_

“We’re always nice,” Bene says from down the table, pointing her fork at him, a shiny cube of watermelon dangling from it. 

“Lies,” Ben shoots back.

“Anyway,” Bobby cuts through the laughter, fond smile adorning his face. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Callum.” 

“Oh—yeah,” Callum stutters, overwhelmed. “You too, Bobby.”

It’s a whirlwind from the, and Callum tries his best to keep up with it, the multiple conversations that are happening around him, the multiple conversations that he’s having at once with different members of Ben’s family, completely forgetting who’s who. 

Breakfast comes to a close when Ian slates Kathy’s cooking and Ben calls him a _self-centred twat_. This turns into a full-fledged war, Ben and Jay joining in too, Bobby shaking his head in silence, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. But Callum, he can’t help the grin that spreads across his face at the entire situation, and has the sudden, overwhelming urge to join in on the good-natured teasing. 

_This is what being part of a family is all about_ , he thinks. 


	3. Chapter 3

As July ticks over to August, Summer has well and truly made its home in Callum’s bones. _  
_ _  
_ It’s mornings full of coffee-stained lips, sand in his hair and sun slanting his eyesight, sunburnt shoulders and the cloying smell of aloe vera, dreamily tanned skin, warm nights, bugs buzzing around his ears, stars twinkling above it all.   
  
It’s the lunchtime rush, hum and buzz of the cafe growing louder each day, rich fruits making for cooking smoothies, ice cream cold between his teeth, sticky fingers held tight. It’s the after sun, burning and bright, the heat of Ben’s mouth when they share kisses on his break, Malibu and coke when Kathy packs up for the day, ice crunched between teeth. It’s the beach at night, all cool, damp sand and made up constellations, lying on their backs to watch satellites flash, toes dipping into the dark water.   
  
It’s evenings spent Singing karaoke at the pub, drunk on beer and cheap wine, belting Queen or Joy Division, their fingers overlapped around the microphone, condensation dripping off their glasses and onto their toes, the crack of pool cues and the lurching ring of slot machines, smoke in the beer garden hazed with orange fairy lights. It’s nights spent staggering up Ben’s driveway at three in the morning, or the path of the campsite, gravel crunching under their feet as they tread lightly, voices echoing up into the sky. 

It’s dates to the cinema the other side of town, rows of red, cracked plastic chairs and a giant screen, empty because it’s a Saturday night at ten o’clock, the two of them tucked up the very back, throwing popcorn into each other’s mouths with the flickering light of the film refracting over their shadowed skin, kissing during the boring parts, silent save for their wet lips, hands cupped around jaws and arms and hips, traces of salt and sweet between their teeth, giggling when they break apart, fifteen years old again on a first date.   
  
The weekend are made for lying on the grass in the campsite together, music thumping from the clubhouse, heads thrown back as they laugh, Ben wearing Callum’s denim jacket, fingers sticky with spoilt jäger bombs, tongue striking a match together. It’s polaroids of the two of them tucked into Callum’s pocket, Be. cuddled under Callum’s jacket, just his head poking through, a close up of their mouths pressed together, the bright cherry of their lips against the camera flash, and Callum’s favourite, the one of Ben laughing so brightly that his eyes are scrunched shut, the two of them a tangle of limbs on the ground.   
  
It’s the wet glow of candlelight on those nights they spend alone, the tiny pool of melted wax that cradles, their hands linked together under the table, for themselves and no one else. Ben staring at Callum when they lie in bed together, hair splayed soft on the pillow, fingers drawing a heart on his skin over the _thud-thud_ that lies beneath, whisper soft, feet brushing together.

_Summer won’t ever leave him._

It’s late morning, the beach still quiet. The forecast this week is all over the place, the sun climbing towards its summer peak, whilst the relentless storms are wreaking havoc. Luckily for him, Callum can already feel the sun beating down on his neck. 

Ben and Callum have claimed a slip of ocean just outside the flags, where the rip is still calm enough to swim in without being sucked away, waves rolling in neat barrels. Ben promised he’d teach him to surf, because Southerners are born with the talent, _apparently,_ but so far Callum hasn’t produced the greatest results. He’s pretty sure he won’t escape this without breaking a few bones. 

They float out deeper into the water, Callum’s toes just scraping the sand, Ben bobbing up and down, which Callum teases him for endlessly. Waves roll in gently, small sets this morning, and they dive and duck and float over them, watching the seagulls glide overhead. 

“You’re getting burnt,” Ben comments as they float over a wave, far out enough from the sand that it doesn’t start to break for another metre or two. 

“Am I?” Callum looks down at his own shoulders, shiny from sunscreen and seawater. They do look a little pink. _“Shit.”_

“C’mon, let’s head in,” Ben grabs his hand and kicks through the water. “Don’t want your city skin getting all wrinkly, do we, old man?” 

“Excuse me,” Callum paddles after him, grabbing at his legs, his ankles, trying to tug him under, but Ben kicks away, half laughing, half screaming when Callum finally gets a hold of his ankle.

“Callum!” he cries, chin dipping under the water. “Let me go, you dickhead!” 

“Take it back!” Callum shouts, laughing as a wave slaps against the backs of their necks, roaring as it begins to break. “Tell me I’m young and youthful looking!”

“Never,” Ben grins impishly, teeth bared as he tries to squirm out of Callum’s grasp. 

In the end, a rogue wave breaks Callum’s hold, the two of them tumbling towards the shoreline as it barrels through them, breaking right over their heads. When Callum emergers, eyes and nose stinging from the onslaught of saltwater, Ben is drifting on his back among the shallows, foam fizzling around his body, laughing madly. 

_“Idiot,”_ Callum lunges towards him, and they wrestle among the tiny waves. 

Once they’ve settled things, they come off the beach and onto the pier where they eat ice cream for lunch, stay at their old day, Ben rubbing sunscreen into Callum’s shoulders every half hour. In the evening, they decide to head down to the Queen Vic, ready to see where the night takes them. 

As it happens, the pub is packed tonight, madly so. 

Chatter and laughter washes together in a giant wave of white noise, blurring out the music playing on the speakers. Across the room, the double doors swing open and closed in a steady rhythm, food pumping out of the kitchen, how air billowing into the pub each time a waiter comes and goes.

Callum takes a slow sip of his Malibu and coke - _Ben’s influence_ \- heavy on the Malibu, and watches as Ben is roped into working behind the bar, face flushed as he reaches up on his tiptoes for a mixture of spirits, mixing and pouring quickly. 

“Wait, it’s Ben Mitchell you were on a date with the other week?”

Callum blinks, cutting his gaze away quickly. A boy watches him, and Callum vaguely recognises him as the Landlord’s son, _Johnny_ , maybe? He watches Callum with a tiny quirk to his lips, sipping slowly on his pint. 

“Uh,” Callum says slowly. “Yeah.”

“Well,” Johnny raises an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know who to congratulate here? But yeah, well in. _Both of you_.”

“Uh, cheers _. I think_.” 

“Careful, my dad will have you behind the bar in no time.” 

“Now there’s an idea, son,” Mick bellows over the bar. “Nice to meet ya, lad.” 

“And you. Mick isn’t it?” Callum asks. “Lovely pub you’ve got here, Definitely the hot spot of the south.”

“Ah,” Mick grins, finger pointing at Callum’s face as he looks back over his shoulder at Ben. “I like this one.” 

It doesn’t start to grow quiet for another hour or so, the last of the summer tourists busing in and finishing off their meals. It’s close to eight when Ben finally meets his eyes across the room, nodding his head towards the door behind him and slipping outside, phone in his hand. 

There’s a gentle breeze rustling through the trees when he steps through the glass doors, dust floating through the hot air aimlessly, mosquitoes starting to flit around the lights that hang overhead. Sunset has only just begun, and it’s slow tonight, a giant orange and blue gradient that blurs perfectly together. Callum rounds the side of the building, outback, to where Ben is sitting on his break, reclined on an old park bench, back against the brick wall with his eyes closed, breathing steadily.

“Hey,” Callum greets softly, bending down to kiss his forehead.

“Hiya,” Ben says. The moment Callum sits down, he falls against his side. “I’m dead.” 

“Always fancied myself as a barman, but I think you’ve just managed to change my mind,” Callum says, wrapping his arm over his shoulder, fingers carding through his sweaty fringe to push it off his forehead. He’s so warm, body thrumming. 

Ben snorts into the back of his hand, shoulds curling forward as he laughs. “Well you’ve won Mick over, honestly he didn’t shut up about how charming you are. Like father, like son.” 

“Mm,” Callum grins and rests his cheek against Ben’s head. “Wait, _what_.”

“Johnny,” Ben says, lifting his head up. “Saw him chatting you up, _again_.” 

“Shut up,” Callum says, shaking his head with a laugh. “We were just talking. About you, actually.” 

“All good things I hope,” Ben says. His eyes are fond, crinkly and gentle as he leans forward and folds their lips together. 

Callum presses closer, loops his soft hair between his fingers. Ben is leant back against the wall still, the back of his neck cradled by Callum’s hand, Callum looming over him, legs pressed up together. He sucks Ben’s bottom lip into his mouth, flicks his tongue out slowly and presses him back, pushes his thumb against his jaw gently. 

“God,” Ben sighs as they pull away. “I’ve missed this.” 

Callum’s laugh is too loud for the quiet, and he hides it into Ben’s neck, shoulders shaking, cheeks flamed pink. “What, since you last kissed me and whole two hours ago?” 

“ _Definitely_ ,” Ben says, leaning down, flicking his eyes up to meet Callum’s, mischief dancing in them. “Two hours too long, if you ask me.” 

“When are you finishing?” Callum asks. He knocks their foreheads together.

“Now,” Ben says with certainty as he fiddles with the bottom of Callum’s shirt. “Considering I don't even work here, I think I’ve done my fair share tonight. Why?” 

“I’ve got an idea,” he says. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.” 

“Sounds dangerous,” Ben muses, raising an eyebrow. “You sure you can handle it, city slicker?” 

Callum shoves him gently, and they fall into soft laughter, kissing again, and again, _one-two-three_ little pecks. “I’m sure.” 

“Alright then,” Ben presses the pads of his fingers to Callum’s chest and extends his arm slowly, pushing himself off the wall. “Lead the way.” 

Everything is still golden. 

The sun has decided to remain idle tonight, flashing it’s rays _up-up-up_ endlessly, not ready to close its eyes and sleep yet, despite the late hour. 

There’s a piece of him and Ben in the sun, Callum thinks. It’s almost as if it’s waiting on them, watching, blinking curiously on the horizon, shooting orange sparks and red smoke through the sky. 

“I’ll be honest,” Callum says, once they’re off and walking, “I ain’t entirely sure where we’re going.” 

“Of course you’re not,” Ben sighs. 

“Hey,” Callum nudges him. “I only discovered this place the other day, and it was a lot lighter then.” 

They end up walking for an age, up and down cobbled streets, right to the top of the cliffside, where the rows of houses lay sleeping. They sit at the edge of it all, elbows on their grass-stained knees, and watch the sun cast itself below the water, the soft, white caps of the ocean turning dark and mysterious.

They remain relatively quiet as they sit there, music ebbing from Ben’s phone, whispering softly back and forth about nothing, fingers linked and warm.

Callum soon realises they’ve been sat chatting for over an hour when a chill seeps through his bones. Above, the sky has finally fallen dark, it’s cloudless, full of milky-white stars, little bright specks spilt among the ink, clustered together like diamonds.  
  
Ben is breathing evenly beside him, eyes closed, body and head drooping. Until suddenly, Callum hears the words that always set his heart beating. 

_Look at the stars, look how they shine for you, and everything you do._

“Will you, uh—” Callum interrupts the quiet, shy suddenly. “Will you turn this one up, please?” 

“Hm?”

“The song. Turn the volume up.” 

_And they were all yellow._   
  
“This was my Mum’s favourite song,” he explains, voice careful and eyes full. “I grew up listening to these albums.” 

It’s entirely dark now, their faces lit up by the artificial glow of their phones and starlight, the half-moon and its reflections. Ben has tucked himself against Callum’s side completely, he still feels warm, though, despite the cool air.

The music is hazy and dreamlike, all whispers and echoes, so soft and fragile, an ode to love, to protect. Ben glances up at him, and Callum can’t read his expression. 

“Let’s dance?” Ben asks.

“That’s very cliche,” Callum says, smile soft.

“Cliches are fun,” Ben stands and pockets his phone, the sounds of Chris Martin vibrating through his pocket, pulling Callum up with him. “I also just really want to dance with you.”

“Okay,” Callum whispers, looping his arms around Ben’s neck, swaying with him, as Ben tucks himself under his chin. Callum breathes out slow and hugs him close, arms wrapped entirely around his back, feeling his warm skin, kissing his neck as they sway to the music. His chest feels light. 

_Your skin, oh you’re skin and bones turn into something beautiful, you know, you know I love you so._

They’re dusted by moonlight, all alone, blue and navy and silver, shiny eyes, wet lips. Callum connects their mouths, and it’s the most intimate, private moment of his entire life. Ben lets out the softest sound, threads his fingers through Callum’s hair as they sway, pressed up close.

_You know I love you so._

It’s only the next morning when things start to feel heavy for Callum, and he nearly collapses. The sun is floating calmly over the sea, dawn barely a breath on the horizon, the same as every new day, but there’s this heaviness to his limbs, it’s not brand new, and neither is the sleep-crust that sticks to the corners of his eyes, or the hollow space in his chest, but he hasn’t felt it since London. _It’s fine._ Once upon a time, this was his normality. And so he thinks nothing of it when his vision goes blurry, blames it on blinding sun and bright blue surrounding it, he thinks nothing of it until his knees being to ache and there’s cotton in his ears, and he realises he’s barely slept for the past forty-eight hours; eyes always awake as his mind goes somewhere dark and _all-too-familiar._ _  
_   
“Hey,” Ben says as he makes his way into the patio, face flickering with alarm as he shakes Callum gently who’s now slumped over the fence of the caravan. Callum can’t seem to get his eyes to focus. Ben’s voice is too distant. “Callum. Look at me, yeah?”   
  
There’s a new, different kind of fuzziness Callum’s registering now, something that isn’t phantom. His knees and his elbows are weak and he has the very sudden urge to let himself fall down. A quiet panic curls around his spine before he can stop it, and he knows it makes a home in his eyes when he finally glances up and sees the look on Ben’s face, brimmed wide with real concern, cautious as he leads Callum inside, and helps him sit down slowly.   
  
“Callum, I need you to say something,” Ben says. He shifts a gentle hand to Callum’s shoulder, shakes him lightly. Callum closes his eyes. “Hey, no. Hey.”   
  
“‘S fine,” Callum murmurs. He hears Ben inhale sharply, and Callum knows he needs to say more to convince him. “I’m okay. ‘M okay, just tired. Ain’t been sleeping great, that’s all.”   
  
He stands up swiftly, averts his eyes and wrings his hands together over the fencing, digs his nails into his palm in the hope he’ll feel _something_. His face is hot, and dampness springs to his eyes before he can hide it. He knows Ben sees this time.   
  
“Sorry,” he blurts, swallows thickly. The panic is still in his chest, but it’s amplified for a new reason now. There’s a truth on the tip of his tongue, dangerously close to spilling. But Ben’s only temporary, _Callum_ knows that, he needs to remember it, too. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you—I’m just—I’m sorry—”   
  
“ _Callum_. Calm down,” Ben whispers, and he puts his hands back onto Callum’s shoulders to steady him, to get him to uncurl. “You don’t have to apologise for anything.”   
  
They rest in heavy silence. Callum refuses to look up.   
  
“Are you alright?” Ben says, still a quiet, concerned whisper. “Really?”   
  
“Yeah,” Callum answers, robotic, automatic. When there’s no response, Callum finally glances up to see Ben staring at him, unconvinced, thin brows drawn together, and there’s this sadness in his eyes that makes Callum’s throat swell, because he doesn’t want it, he doesn’t want that look, not from Ben. “‘M alright. Or, I will be.”   
  
“You look like you’re going to fade away,” Ben breathes, staring right at him.   
  
Callum doesn’t want to crumple, but he feels his face caving, and he has to look away again. He feels caught out and hopeless, embarrassed that he fell into Ben like that, hurting because his brain is screaming at him to do it again, to press his face somewhere close and just breathe, to try and forget. Ben’s hands leave his shoulders and Callum almost reaches for his wrists like a reflex, to put them back, to cup his neck with them, hold him up, hold him steady.   
  
He feels exposed, raw, his skin salt-pink beneath the next layer, the one that’s already torn through for anyone to peek inside, to press their fingers in and see that he’s nothing but an empty space his Mum left when she died. 

_Four years today._

“Café for breakfast?” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


That heaviness doesn’t leave Callum all day, it carries itself through the air and into the night. 

As he sits outside the party, he exhales again, breath coming out thick and foggy against the chill of the night. He can feel the _thud-thud-thud_ of music against the wall, it’s creeping at the soles of his feet, ricocheting up his elbows and knees and into his head, rattling his bones as he passes a bottle of Jager to Jay. 

“Brought this with me,” he swallows, throat dry, lips wet. “Personally I can’t stand the stuff, but I remember Ben mentioning that it’s his favourite that first night we met.”

They’re at a party just out of town tonight, one of the giant farmhouses on the opposite end of the beach, high up past the cliffside, water stretching out in the distance, all high ceilings and bright light. Lola is around somewhere, introducing herself to all of Jay’s university mates, probably. He should try and find her, and Ben, or both of them. 

“Oh yeah?” Jay ponders, a smirk pulling at his lips. “It must be love.”

“Huh?” Callum dips closer. 

“You and Ben,” Jay expands. “I ain’t ever seen him like this, y’know? So happy, so free. And you, well you’re buying drinks just because you know he likes them. I mean, that’s almost the definition of love, Callum.” 

Callum blinks slowly at him, cheek squished against his knee as he lets Jay’s words play through his mind. 

_Love. Love Love._

And with that, Jay clambers up onto his knees and stumbles away, body soon lost to the crowd of the party. Callum stays on the floor for quite a while, brain trying to play catch up with how fast his thoughts are unconsciously whirring. People trip over his legs, drink splashing against his ankles as they dance, and eventually, he sits up with a foggy head, in need of a drink. 

In the distance, his Mum’s favourite song plays. The second day in a row. 

Maybe he is strong enough to make it through the night after all.

_It’s nearing two in the morning, there’s music blaring, bodies thrumming together. Ben’s thoughts are disjointed as he peels himself from where he was resting against the wall and shoves his way into the kitchen for another drink._ Jager _. In the back of his mind, he’s praying for the sun to rise, an abrupt end to the party, a warm bed and familiar arms._

_They never come, though._

_What comes instead are rough, shaky hands, gripping his arms so tightly it hurts, familiar eyes wide and afraid, shaking him. “Ben, Ben—"_

_“Woah, Jay,” he blinks against the rattling in his brain, fingers wrapping loosely around his biceps to tug him away a little. “What’s—"_

_“Are you sober? Have you taken anything?” Jay’s hands fly to his face to grip his cheeks, tugging him closer in a panic._

_“Jesus, can you—” he struggles out of his grasp. “No, of course I haven’t taken—Jay what on earth are you talking about?”_

_“It’s Callum,” he says thickly, and worry washes over Ben like a looming wave. “Something’s—something’s wrong with him, Ben. I don’t know what to do.”_

_“Wait, wait,” Ben ducks closer. “What do you mean? What’s wrong?”_

_“He won’t get up,” he whispers. “He’s just—just lying there and I can’t wake him up.”_

_With that, Ben charges frantically through the hoards of people. His heart is thudding painfully against his chest, panic curling up his veins and muddling all the sluggish things together. He feels dizzy and sick, overwhelmed at all the movement around him. Jay finally halts them in the hallway, dropping down onto the ground, a body shadowed by orange lamplight._

_Callum is curled into a ball, shaking, limbs jerking. He looks awful. He doesn’t look present, eyes rolling, face sticky with sweat. He looks too familiar, and Ben feels bile rise up in his throat._

_“Cal,” he clambers towards him on his knees, lifting his head. There’s nothing behind his eyes. “Callum.”_

_Nothing._

_“Fuck.”_

_“What? What’s wrong with him?” Lola grips at his arm, she’s come out of nowhere, face shaken and pale._

_“I think he’s—he’s taken something,” Ben murmurs, looking down the hall. There’s a girl sitting down a few metres away on the opposite wall, eyes wide open and shaking. “Or, God, I don’t know.”_

_“No,” Lola breathes. “No, he wouldn’t. He ain’t like that. He ain’t stupid.”_

_“Where’s Dotty?”_

_“Who the fuck is Dotty?” Lola urges, tears threatening her mascara now._

_“I just — I need to ask her summat,” and that’s as much as an explanation he gets before he’s running off again in search._

_Ben finds her outside. She’s talking close with another boy, head tilted down. Ben’s brain is too fried to see anything but red, is too panicked to stop himself thundering forward when he sees Dotty dip into her handbag. He’s loud about it when he knocks her back by her shoulders, the content of her drink spilling everywhere. The guy in her company turns on him immediately. So does Dotty._

_“What the fuck, Ben?” She yells, shoving his chest._

_“What has he taken?”_

_“What the hell are you talking about?” She hisses, face flushed red. Ben’s heart skips. “Get away from me.”_

_“Callum, he’s—_ fuck, _Dotty, quit playing games and just tell me what you sold him,” he says desperately. “I don’t fucking care—”_

_“I didn’t sell him anything!” Dotty shouts, and her voice breaks at the end, eyes misty with a thin film of tears. Ben’s mouth falls open slightly, the two of them staring at each other and breathing heavily. “I don’t do that shit anymore, Ben. God, you know I don’t.”_

_“But, Dot—” Ben cries, eyes misty with a thin film of tears. “He’s—shit, I don’t know what to do—”_

_“Where is he?”_

_“In the hallway—”_

_Dotty pushes past him, shoving his shoulder roughly. Ben stumbles backwards, throat closed tight as partygoers watch on._

_Callum’s head is tipped forward by the time they get back there, eyes closed still. Jay and Lola are crouched around him, a water bottle and a wet cloth between them. Ben doesn’t hesitate to join them, he avoids all eye contact, focuses solely on Callum, eyes shiny as he whispers soothingly despite the awful, swirling feeling settling in the bottom of his stomach._

_“I can’t—” Callum murmurs suddenly, shoulders heaving. His head lolls back, entire body tipping to the side like gravity is shifting._

_“Can’t what?” Ben says. Panic curls tight around his throat and his voice is strained. Callum lets out an odd sound, pained and strung out, arm flapping towards his cup, lying on its side, contents spilt over the rug._

_“M’sorry.”_

_Dotty is standing by the side of them, rifling through Callum’s jacket. “Sleeping pills.”_

_“What?”_

_**"Adults and children of 16 years and over: one tablet 20 minutes before going to bed. Do not take a second tablet on the same night. Swallow the tablet down with water. Do not mix with alcohol. Do not take more than the recommended amount. If symptoms do not go away—"** _

_“What does that mean?” Ben interrupts, frantic. “Is he going to be alright? Or do we need_ _to phone an ambulance? Shall I do it now?”_

_“No,” Dotty says, too calm for Ben’s beating heart. “No, he’ll be fine. He’s probably taken a few too many, mixed them with alcohol. Sit him upright, get some water down him, and just watch over him for the rest of the night.”_

_“That’s all?” Ben asks, needing reassurance like air._

_Dotty nods her head, sad smile on her lips. “What he’ll probably need the most, Ben, is a shoulder to cry on.”_

_He’s awake, and he’s going to be okay, and that’s all that matters, so Ben clings and cries and clings and cries some more._

_“Hey, hey, I’m here,” he breathes, a gentle finger tucking under Callum’s chin to lift his head. He’s wide-eyed and pale, his cheeks ashen, bruises blooming and cuts gashing, pain evident in his features. “You’re alright, yeah? Look at me. You’re alright.”_

_There’s a pause, a tiny breath, then, “Ben? That you?”_

_Ben closes his eyes, inhales, and clambers further towards Callum. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.”_

_“Ben,” he cries, cheek to the floor, and then again,_ “Ben—”

_“Sh, it’s okay,” Ben says. He brushes Callum’s hair back from his forehead. “I’m here. Just breathe for a second, just breathe.”_

_His head tips, his eyes meeting Ben’s for the first time, and Ben sees everything in his eyes; the fear, the pain, the regret. It’s everything he wishes he could take away, but he can’t, he doesn’t know how._

_“I’m sorry, Ben,” Callum whispers, reaching out for him, Ben grips his hand so tightly he’s sure it must hurt. He looks up at Ben with fear in his eyes, breathes raspy, head lolled to the side. Ben leans down and kisses his forehead, brushing his hair away as Callum whines high in his throat, shifting. “So sorry.”_

_Ben looks away and bites his lips into his mouth. Beside him, Jay kneels silently, fingers wrung together, face struck pale. He looks far away, lost in his own head. He hasn’t said a word, either._

_The skies are growing dark beyond the haunting wood now, dark skies bringing the weight of something deep black and blue with it, akin to a feeling that hasn’t left Ben’s chest for days now._

_“I didn’t mean to—” Callum starts, thrashing the blanket of silence. “I don’t want to die, Ben. I’m just tired._ I’m so tired.” 

_Ben looks to him immediately, and in the baulking second it takes for him to reply, his heart drips like cold honey down his spine to his toes and back into the rattling basket of his achy ribs._

_“Let’s get you home, yeah?”_

_“Home?”_

_“Hm, home,” Ben agrees, and before he can even think about it, he says, “back to mine.”_

_Outside, everything seems eerily still, not a breath of wind blowing to unsettle the trees._

_But in Ben’s heart, it’s chaos._

_He leaves one last kiss on Callum’s forehead before he drifts off in the taxi, gentle yet pressing, and slips his hands over the fabric of his shirt, pressing his palms to the beat there._ **_I’m here, I’ve got you, there’s nothing to worry about now._**  
  
  


Callum’s dreaming. He’s dreaming and he can’t stop it, no matter how much he wishes he could. 

He wakes sobbing. _Out of the dream, and into the nightmare._

It’s not muffled, nor quiet, held in his chest. He doesn’t know how long it’s been going on, but he gasps awake like he’s breaking the surface of the sea, cheeks shiny-wet, stomach all knotted up, and he curls into himself slowly, a hand over his eyes as thoughts coming rushing over him so suddenly it makes his vision blur, this gigantic, staggering wave of grief that knocks him back. 

It takes him too long to realise that the edges of things are blurred yellow, that the moon is peeling itself away from the sky, making room for the burning sun, that there’s a gentle weight by his side, and when he manages to peel his swollen lids open, Ben is laying there, staring down at him, his own eyes wet with unspilled tears as he watches.

Ben doesn’t touch him, doesn’t say a word, and Callum doesn’t know what he’s doing as he reaches out. He just needs something to hold onto, something other than himself to use for leverage for once, just something to feel like he isn’t drifting out all alone. He circles Ben’s wrist first, urging him closer. Their eyes meet.

That’s all it takes for Ben to draw Callum up and into his chest.

Callum grips him tight, hides his face away against the underside of Ben’s neck as he cries, back heaving under Ben’s flattened palm, rubbing there, hushing Callum gently, his own breathing stuttered and wet. 

Callum knows he needs to say something, but he doesn’t know how. The thought is always there to greet him when he wakes each morning, whispered as a low hum along the dips of his spine, right up close to his ear. _Your mother is dead._ Sometimes it’s a breath, sometimes a shout, sometimes he blinks it away the moment his eyes peel open. Lately, he’s been shoving it down into the deepest part of his mind, slamming the door and swallowing the key. 

But it’s this time, each year, that the thoughts of his Mum, along with all the other things he trapped in that place, slowly seep out from under the cracks. Those dreamy memories from his childhood disappear for a while, the simple times, the laughter, the radiant beam of his Mums smile, replaced instead by that lifeless flat, the harsh spits and growls of his Dad, the bustle of the city and the silence between the remaining Highway’s. 

_“Let it out, babe, let it all out,”_ Ben is whispering into his ear, lips on his temple, the words washing over Callum in waves, these soft assurances, thumb rubbing constant between Callum’s shoulders. “You’re okay. You’re alright.”

Callum can’t seem to stop crying, though, and he wonders how long Ben has been watching and waiting for this moment, if he could see it coming the second their eyes met for the first time on that rickety bridge. Maybe Ben understands Calum more than Callum ever thought possible, maybe he understood Callum in a way that nobody else has, and it’s all Callum can do to cling on tight, and listen to the words whispered to him, over and over, a mantra.

_You’ll be okay. I’m here. Whatever you need._

When he wakes again, it’s dark out.

They’ve fallen asleep together.

Ben is on his front, and Callum has shifted further down the bed, only just touching the pillows. His forehead feels heavy, eyes swollen when he blinks. 

“How are you feeling?” Ben whispers. His mouth brushes the pillow as he speaks, a soft hush. Callum lowers his eyes. His lashes feel all sticky.

“Okay, I think,” he murmurs. When he glances back up Ben is just watching him, and this close all the sharp things about him have gone softer, shadows rounding out the slope of his jawline, the fan of his lashes, pale eyes dimmed and gentle as he regards Callum carefully. This close, Callum can see the details, more freckles and sunspots, the stubble that’s starting to shadow the underside of Ben’s jaw. The smudge of his hearing aid buried deep in his ear. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ben says.

“About what?” Callum plays cooly. 

“You know what,” Ben whispers, and then, “about last night, at the party. This, you waking up sobbing. _Everything._ ” 

“I don’t know how,” Callum admits, meek. He looks away. “I don’t even know how to think about it.”

The sheets rustle soft, and then Ben’s fingers brush the underside of Callum’s jaw. A gentle encouragement. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

 _The beginning._ Callum wonders which beginning Ben means, if the beginning even means much at all; or if it’s the end that’s always the most significant. 

_The end,_ Callum thinks, closing his eyes, feeling Ben’s fingers brush his skin again, the sunlight brushing them over in gold, the wind outside and the waves curled right up close making for white noise. 

_Why don’t you start from the beginning?_

Callum does.

It’s almost funny, how the only thing he wants to forget is the one thing that he probably never will.

He tells Ben everything he can, everything he remembers. He stars with the city, the lights, the simple boyhood he had before things fell apart, before his parents started to fight, before his mum got sick, before the house smelt like smoke and strangers and his mum would come into his room late at night, cradle his head and brush his hair back and read him pages of his favourite book. 

But soon things turn sombre, and he tells Ben of all of that, too. About how his Mum never really looked at peace, but she did that morning. Callum remembers it well, remembers it down to the day, a chilly Sunday morning, the hallway window cracked because the clouds weren’t covering the sun yet, and the light itself felt almost tranquil. It was still early, and he read for a little while, poured himself a cup of coffee and lost himself between the pages. He didn’t sleep much the night before.

(Looking back, he realises that he didn’t really sleep much at all, that last year.)

He tells Ben how despite it all, the morning had been bright, the sun alive and burning before its time, the greys of the day still far away. He’d crossed the hall in socked feet and hummed soft under his breath, steaming cup of his Mum’s favourite coffee in one hand, the book they’d been reading together in the other. He opened the door, took a deep breath and then he paused, when he saw her lying there.

He remembers the startled, boyish _no_ that left his mouth. And then the shattering of the mug, the hot, steaming liquid pouring over his feet. He stepped in broken china and it hurt but he didn’t really feel it, didn’t notice he’d trecked blood through the flat. 

He tells Ben that his brother had been away on some stag weekend in Magaluf at the time, and his Dad was, _well_ , God knows where he was. Still, to this day, Callum can’t decide if he was grateful, or hurt by his father’s absence that morning. 

It was still all bright when Callum leaned into the room to touch his Mum’s forehead, he got close enough to see that her eyes were open, and she was so still. And that wasn’t what made him cry, because she’d been still for a long time. Her limbs were fluid, loose, eyes vacant and calm. _She was gone,_ he tells Ben with a pained choke. _She wasn’t in pain anymore._

But Callum was. 

There’s not much more to tell Ben, because he doesn’t remember so much, after that. He thinks he remembers throwing things, trashing his room, pacing. He remembers sitting by the bed and _crying and crying and crying_ , until his head felt like it would implode. He remembers touching the centre of her cold palm and trying to memorise what it felt like to be held by her, before her arms started to shut down and she couldn’t walk anymore, before she forgot Callum’s name, and who he was, and every secret he’d ever shared with her. 

He doesn’t know how long he’d sat there for, tears staining the sheets, coffee fanning out across the floor and seeping into the wood, making it sticky. He just knows it hurt to breathe, to think, to touch her, or look at her, to do anything. And the more he tried to remember what it felt like to be held by her, to imagine the good things, the more the bad things started to seep through, too, the things he tried to push away.

He goes on to tell Ben about how he used to disappear for days on end, hiding himself in Lola’s place across the road, needing an escape from that tiny flat. Some days, it felt like drowning. Some days, when his Mum wouldn’t recognise him, when he’d had to drop out of college to care for her because his Dad wasn’t ever around when needed. Particular days, he had no choice but to leave, like the day his Mum had forgotten that being gay was Callum’s big secret, that his Dad ain’t to know. _Shouldn’t know. Couldn’t know._ Until he did. Until he did and then his Mum died and Jonno was free to rule the roof, Callum no longer welcome. _No longer needed._

Other days, he wishes he'd never joined the Army. Wishes he’d never believed a word his Dad had said about opportunities and finding himself and becoming a _real man._ He just wants his mum, always. 

He takes a deep breath then, wipes messily at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, and finally looks up to meet Ben’s sad eyes. “It was four years ago yesterday, Ben, since I lost her. _Four whole years_.” 

“Callum…” Ben breathes.

“She was everything I had,” Callum says, small. “Everything I ever had, and I couldn’t do anything to save her.”

“But you tried, and it nearly destroyed you,” Ben says, his own voice breaking now. Ben closes his prickling eyes. “Staying in that flat.” 

“I know, but I loved her,” Callum argues lightly. Tears start to spill over before he can stop them. “I gave her everything I had and now she’s gone. A huge part of me died with her, I’ve been taking those sleeping pills since she died, it’s like I can’t even function without them—and the army, God, the things I saw _—_ and now it’s like I don’t even know who I am _—_ ”

He cuts himself off, presses the heel of his palm into his eye.

“You’re kind,” Ben says in the pause, curling impossibly closer to Callum. “You’re _so_ kind, Callum. You’re observant, and full of heart, and you don’t even realise how much love and light you give to other people, by just being in their presence. And you’re funny, even if you ain’t got a patch on my humour. You pick up on details that others are moving too fast to see, and you keep your secrets close to your heart, like a book waiting to be uncovered. But still, I can see your heart on your sleeve, when you let me see it.”

Callum stares at him, tears wobbly where they’re stuck. There’s this intense, steady flush crawling up over his neck, fingers curled in the sheets. Ben’s smile is barely there, so gentle, wan as he presses his thumb against Callum’s skin.

“I’ve never met anybody like you before,” he says. 

Callum inhales slowly. “I ain’t owt special, just a bit of a mess really.”

“Didn’t say you were,” Ben says softly. “You’re just you. And I’ve never met anybody like you.”

Callum doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s so quiet between them, just the wind, the lull of waves, sunlight resting on the window sill and peeking through the gaps of the curtain. Slowly, ginger, Ben reaches out and brushes Callum’s hair from his eyes.

“I think you’re brave, too,” Ben says, breathed in the space between them. “You got through that all on your own, younger than you ever should’ve been. And still, you have this heart of gold, when you could so easily have turned cold.”

Ben’s words wash over him, as he’s still touching Callum’s face, almost absently now, like he’s forgotten his fingers are dragging gentle through Callum’s fringe. When Callum opens his eyes again, during the pause, Ben is watching him back, face turned into the pillow.

“Ben,” Callum whispers, heart kicking against his ribs. “God, I don’t deserve you.” 

“ _Yes, you do._ Ben says. He looks back to Callum, face set. “Listen, maybe it ain’t my place to say this, and maybe you don’t want to hear it. But your Mum would be so proud of you Callum, she really would.”

Callum feels himself tearing up again, and then the first little droplet slips, melting from the corner of his eye and cradling along the side of his nose. Ben brushes it away with his thumb, palm hovering over Callum’s cheek now.

“Thank you,” Callum whispers, earnest. It’s muffled into Ben’s t-shirt but he knows that Ben hears, feels the intake of his breath, the careful way he lets his arm fall over Callum’s shoulder, pulling him in. “I’m so happy I met you.”

Ben tugs the sheet up around them, and all is warm and quiet. “Me too.”

They’re silent for a moment, and then Ben bites down on what might be a smile as he looks away, their heavy breaths space between them. 

“I want to take you somewhere.”

It’s whisper-soft, and Callum feels it tickle the tiny hairs along his neck.

“Where?” Callum murmurs. 

“It’s a secret,” Ben says. He rubs his thumb over Callum’s bottom lip.

“Oh?” Callum says, and Ben rolls his eyes. 

“Can you keep a secret?” Ben says, and Callum blinks at him, watches the seriousness that clouds over his eyes, the way he bites his bottom lip between his teeth.

Callum holds out his pinky. “Sure can.”

They share a packet of chocolate digestives as they drive, hot air running through the filters of the aircon, steaming the windows. Bens got chocolate smeared down his chin, and Callum has to sit on his hands to stop himself from doing something stupid, from leaning over and kissing at the spot right there. 

It’s another fifteen minutes or so before Ben slowly brings the car to a stop, pulling into a tiny strip of gravel shadowed by long, spindly trees.

There’s an old sign that’s rusted and fallen over, beach warnings in white and red, decayed around the edges. Callum can’t see a path, and the furrow between his brow deepens as Ben slots their fingers together and starts to tug them straight into the trees, dried out leaves crackling under their feet, tickling the bare skin of his ankles.

“Where are we going?” Callum says, ducking under a large fern. 

“I told you,” Ben smiles at him over his shoulder. “It’s a secret.” 

Even though there’s no visible path, Ben seems to know exactly where he’s going. His steps are sure, and he leaps from rock to rock as they start to decline. Callum keeps a firm grip on his fingers and ignores the way their palms stick with sweat. 

Finally, they break through the treeline and stumble onto sand. 

It’s a tiny cove of beach, just a thin strip of white-gold that’s bordered by cliffs on either side, rockpools stretching out to the water and meeting the waves, foam spraying. Ben drags him along the sand, already flicking his sandals off. Callum follows suit, and he barely notices the sting of hot grains on his soles, instead breathing out at the familiarity of it. 

Ben stops them by the edge of the rockpools, just before the rock itself merges with the sand, and where the foam of the waves fizzles out to a dull trickle.

“Be careful,” he says, stepping up onto the rock. “Try not to step on the sharp bits, you’ll probably fall and crack your head open.”

“Oh, very reassuring,” Callum murmurs, almost slipping as fizzling seawater hisses over the gleaming rock. Ben holds onto him closely, and they start to tread out closer to the cliffs, where huge boulders of rock rest like tiny mountains, deep red and lined with cracks of blue where sea wind has sunk its claws in.

Before long, the seawater is lapping at their knees. Or rather, Callum’s knees and Ben’s waist. Ben drags him along quickly, and suddenly everything goes strangely dark, as they tread light feet into the entrance of a small cave. 

Beneath them, the floor of the cave is dome-like, deep but still translucent blue, and Callum can see all the tiny details of it, the shadows of starfish and tiny crabs huddled close on the rocks, seaweeds and dark sponges that splay themselves out when the sun hits through the water.

It takes him a while to notice the etchings on the cave walls, the white scrapes that have been carved into the clay red, and he tilts his head up as he marvels at all the names that are engraved, that are part of this little tucked away place. 

Ben interlocks their fingers under the water, and they walk to the ledge of the rock and climb up, where the tide has dipped low enough for them to step carefully over the wet, exposed surface. 

“I thought you said this place is a secret?” Callum says, reading over all the names, some faded, others fresher. 

“It is,” Ben says. “Well, a local secret.” 

The way Callum’s heart falls into his feet is a slow, gradual thing, a pull that turns his neck and the tips of his cheeks warm, that makes the wet air around them feel too hot. Ben just watches him for a moment, and then he steps forward slowly, eyes raking up the wall until he finds what he’s looking for, rolling up onto his tippy-toes and extending his arm up to point.

**BEN MITCHELL.**

It’s faded, worn down and almost lost against the rocks, but it’s there, large and bordered by tiny lines, almost like cartoon sunbeams. Just beside it, Callum sees **JAY BROWN** in an attempted cursive. He blinks up at them slowly, roams his gaze over the other names clustered there, the ones that are almost completely invisible, drawn over by someone else. Some he recognises, others he doesn’t, but there’s one, in particular, that stands out, brings Callum’s heart right back up and into his mouth. 

**PAUL COKER** , it reads, directly below Ben’s name, accompanied with a tiny, wonky love heart. 

“This place,” Ben starts, voice so soft that it’s almost lost under the distant swell, the muted lapping of the water behind them, “It means a lot to me. It’s where I first fell in love, I suppose.” 

“Wow,” Callum breathes, and he tries to fully understand the scope of this, of Ben bringing him here, showing him this place he holds so close to his heart. He tries to understand how incredibly, intricately personal this is, and why Ben has let him see it. “It’s a beautiful place to fall in love.” 

“Yeah,” Ben breathes, “it really is.” 

“What was his name?” Callum asks, despite the fact he knows. But this is Ben’s story to tell, and he wants to give Ben every chance he gave Callum this morning. 

“Paul,” Ben whispers, eyes wet with a sad smile as his finger brushes delicately over the caved name. He pushes his other hand along the tops of his thighs, curls his finger anxiously over his knee as he releases another long exhale. Callum stares, swallows thickly. He feels worlds away but like nothing could ever move him from this point in time. 

“It was two summers ago, the best of my life,” Ben starts. Callum holds his breath against the intensity in his voice. 

“Paul was special, Callum. So special, and his life was just taken from him as if he was _nothing_ ,” Ben continues quietly, wistfully, but his voice grows tight and panicked as he talks, eyes watering some more. Callum's heart spikes in his chest.

Darkness shadows across Ben’s face slowly, creeping in as his eyes grow dull, and he curls into himself again. He opens his mouth again, then snaps it shut, taking in a shuddery breath.

“You can stop if you want,” Callum whispers, gentle. “It’s okay.”

“Sorry, it’s just,” his eyes are misty again, “it’s hard to talk about him. But I want to. You _—_ you opened up to me this morning, Callum, you told me your truths, and I think I owe you mine in return.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Ben,” Callum says. And he means it, more than anything. 

“Maybe not,” Ben says. “But I want you to know every part of me, and this is the biggest.”

Callum gives Ben a soft, reassuring smile, and time, time to breathe, time to gather his thoughts and do this his way. The wind wisps its way into the cave, settles itself in Callum’s bones. 

_“Why don’t you start from the beginning, hey?” He says in the end, echoing Ben’s earlier words._

And Ben does, just as Callum had only hours earlier. 

He tells Callum everything, from their first date, Ben running scared and hiding away for weeks, to their last moments, bright and brilliant until they weren’t, until they were broken down to splintering glass. 

Callum suddenly feels like the cave has shrunk down, like the walls are scraping against his skin and his shoulders are hunched in painfully, knees tucked up into his chest as he listens to Ben speak, the distant, detached way he’s running his palms over the rock. He wasn’t expecting to hear all this, and now he isn’t sure he wants to, isn’t sure he deserves these explanations, these stories that feel too personal and too deeply ingrained in history to be ripped into the present.

“That’s awful,” Callum makes an odd sound in the back of his throat. “Ben, I’m so sorry.” 

“It was,” Ben nods slowly. His fingers are still tracing over the rock, following the natural rivets, tracing letters. “And there was a time I thought I weren't gonna get through it. _Ever._ But Jay saw me through, he’s been the best.” 

“I’m glad you had Jay. And Paul, he _—_ he sounds beautiful,” Callum whispers, Ben’s head rolling to loll on Callum’s shoulder. “I can feel his warmth in your stories.”

Ben’s face tucks further into Callum’s shoulder, and gradually, Callum lets his cheek rest atop Ben’s head, the two of them resting together, eyes wet, Ben silent as he breathes slow and measured. In the distance, Callum feels that oncoming wave again, can hear that warm fizzle, that buzzing in his fingertips.

“And I think he’d be proud of you, too,” Callum continues quietly, the words escaping before he can stop them, finds heat at his neck as he speaks. “The way you’re still going, that you keep coming back here. That you could have left and gave it all up, but you’re still here. Persevering, and not letting anybody tell you who to be, or what to feel. And you should know that I admire you for that, and I…I really like you, you make me feel like I have something to belong to, and to become.” 

He finds Ben’s hand, rests his fingers in the gaps between Callum’s own.

Ben pulls away a little, facing Callum fully, and when Callum meets his eye carefully, he finds that Ben’s are shiny, full, brows pinched as he stares right back, something akin to a revelation passing over his features, something Callum feels in his chest when Ben blinks, lashes gone clumped.

“It’s been so long since I cared about anyone,” he says. “But I care about you, Callum. And that’s why I brought you here today.” 

“I’m so happy you did, Ben,” Callum says, voice tight and eyes wet. “It’s beautiful.”

“This place, Secret Beach as it’s unoriginally known as now, it’s like the heart of our town,” Ben explains. “It’s hidden away and some of the locals don’t even know it exists, but that’s what makes it so special? And you deserve special, Callum.” 

Callum stares at him, dumbfounded and flushed, almost shrinking under the intensity of Ben’s gaze, under the open and vulnerable wideness of his eyes, the earnestness of his shuddering chest, the refracting light on the water shimmering and dancing on his cheeks. Then Ben bends down, and he dislodges a small rock from the pool beside them, slippery and shining and sharp, and he loops his tan, calloused fingers around Callum’s wrist gently, places the rock in his palm and curls his fingers over the smoothness of it. 

“Ben,” Callum breathes, staring down at the rock in his hand, at Ben’s fingers folding over his own. 

“Go on,” Ben lifts his hands away, and he gestures his head towards the cave wall, towards years and years of traditions and secrets and heartache and grief. “Do it.” 

“I can’t,” Callum says, and his voice is caught in his throat suddenly, overwhelmed and unsure of himself. 

“I want you to,” Ben says, fiercely. _“Really_ want you to.” 

Callum just stares at him for so long, the rock in his palm seeming to weigh his hand down. He can’t help but feel that there’s something else here, something more that Ben isn’t saying, the most vulnerable and delicate parts of him are still hidden by that wall of glass, that Callum’s only just starting to crack through. Other things, though, have already shattered the glass completely, and it scares Callum somewhat, the thought that he’s managed to break down that barrier. It scares him because he doesn’t quite know what to do now that he’s smashed his way through. 

Turning slowly, Callum runs his fingers over the damp wall, and finds a place to squeeze his name in, where there’s a smooth gap of deep red. Slowly, and carefully, he carves; **CALLUM HIGHWAY, SUMMER ‘19** , into the rock, fingers shaking as he scrapes the colour away and leaves white scratches, leaves his name imprinted here. It’s more than the lingering bruises on Ben’s neck, more than the borrowed grey hoodie on his back, more than the paint on Ben’s hands, than pencil marks and colour etched there. 

_It’s more than the Summer._

It’s a piece of him permanently etched here.

When he lowers the rock, there’s stuttered fuzziness to his heartbeat. Ben reaches for his wrist again, and he slowly pulls them back into the water, where it’s cool against their grazed knees, and they kiss slow, unhurried, wet lips, hair trailing rivets of water along their necks and shoulders. 

Callum feels something shift between them, and he opens his mouth up wider, clings close, because he doesn’t ever want to let this go. 


	4. Chapter 4

A blazing day in the middle of August begins with an insistent banging on Ben’s bedroom door.

Callum scrunches his nose up, a little disoriented from his late sleep as he slowly stretches his body out. There’s a pleasant buzz under his skin, a pull in his muscles, and he snuggles closer into Ben’s side. 

There’s a fresh mark on Ben’s collarbone, and Callum smiles to himself as he nuzzles his face into his soft pillow, ready to fall back asleep again.

“Oi!” The banging on the door continues, louder this time.

“What d’ya want?” Ben mumbles, snuffling as he wakes. One of his hands comes to rest on Callum’s back immediately, and he pulls him closer. “Morning, babe.”

“Morning,” Callum says. His voice is scratchy and worn.

“Open up!” Jay continues to yell from outside, knocking consistently, over and over.

Ben groans into Callum’s hair and lifts his hands away. He sits up slowly, stretches, and slides out of bed. Callum rolls onto his stomach and stares dazedly at Ben for a moment before he reminds him to put on some pants before answering the door.

As soon as Ben cracks the door open, Jay bursts inside with a pride flag wrapped around his shoulders. “Rise and shine, kids!” Jay sings, leaping across the room to the window, curtains thrown open and letting in offensive, blinding sunlight. “It’s a beautiful day, the sun is shining, it’s going to be the best day, I can feel it.”

“Oh, I know,” Ben shoves him, then climbs back into bed beside Callum. Callum curls into him again. “It’s all going to be amazing.”

“I _know_ it’s going to be amazing,” Jay says haughtily, hands on his hips. “But it would be excellent if you two would come down to the pub and help me and Lo set up, I promised Mick and your Mum we’d do our bit.”

“Alright, alright,” Ben sighs, but his eyes are crinkled. “We’ll be ready in ten.”

“Hm,” Jay crosses his arms over his chest. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Get out, Jay,” Callum laughs, cheeks going pink when Jay sends them a knowing look as he leaves.

With the window open, the bustle from below floods the room, people talking and cars moving, the beeping of trucks bringing in the barricades and the unmistakable mish-mash of happiness and freedom. The heat follows it too, and Callum smiles into Ben’s skin, heart fluttering in his chest.

“I’m excited,” he whispers into Ben’s neck. “My first pride, kind of.” 

“You’re going to love it,” Ben whispers back, almost lost under the commotion outside. “It’s so much fun, Cal.”

It’s late afternoon but the time the pub is ready for the busy night that's planned, and they spend an hour roaming the streets and stalls, before they head back to the house to get ready for the evening. 

Once back at the house, Lola had sat Callum down and gone through a bunch of outfits with him, picking out dozens of shirts and jackets and jeans for him to try on. She’d watched from the edge of the bed with a fond smile on her face, her eyes shining with pride as Callum’s smile grew wider and more confident with each change of clothes. 

Now, walking up the pub, he’s wearing a pair of washed-out jeans, cut messily at the ankles by what looks like blunt scissors so they’re frayed and loose, with a white Pink Floyd shirt and plaid jacket. His scuffed black vans take their usual place on his feet despite their holes and age.

“You look great,” Ben says beside him, his whole face scrunched up with fondness. Callum nudges their shoulders together, and laughs as he places a soft kiss there.

“So do you,” he says. “Really, really great.” 

“Cal,” Lola says softly beside him, where her arm is linked with Jay’s, a private smile on her face.

“You alright?” Callum asks. Ben glances up at them from below questioningly.

“I have something for you,” she grins. She pulls her handbag from her free arm, sorts through it until she scrapes the bottom and starts to pull out a large piece of colourful fabric.

It’s a rainbow, Callum realises, starting with pink and ending with purple, bright and blinding. There’s writing on it, personalised with his name and the year, _forever proud_ displayed in loopy writing underneath. He stares down at it.

“What’s this?” he looks at Lola under his brows.

“I saw it at the stall today, there were loads of them, all the different flags,” Lola explains softly. “I asked the lad if he did any extras or owt, and together we worked out how we could make it extra special for you, and came up with this. It’s yours, this flag, this time, _this night.”_

 _“Lo,”_ Callum says breathlessly. He reaches out for it, feels the scratchy material beneath his fingertips. It feels important, new and welcomed. He throws his arms around her shoulders and holds her close, eyes burning. “I love it. Thank you so much. This means so much.”

“I know,” Lola says. “I’m dead proud of you and I want everyone to know that.”

The excitement truly kicks in the moment they all step into the pub. It’s the best kind of chaos, the type where you don’t know what’s up or down, left or right. People are bustling everywhere, a different sound from every direction, and different colour with every blink. 

They weave through the crowd to the bar, and then on to the space they spent the morning creating a make-shift dance floor. The tribute bands are setting up, from a scarily accurate Freddie Mercury to a supposed Pet Shop Boys duo, there’s someone for everyone lined up here. They’re instantly engulfed by warm bodies, all huddled together with buzzing alacrity. Ben squeezes at Callum’s hand, smiles up to him with the sun setting outside the window, tipping the room in all oranges and golds. 

Callum grins ear to ear, grips Ben’s hand tightly and watches the shudder of excited bodies around him, all gathered for the same purpose. He feels like he’s part of something, something so big he can barely put it into words. There’s a sense of togetherness and understanding, a sense of family even though he barely knows anyone around him. He feels loved without being told so, feels wanted without the spoken word.

There’s a sudden, sharp burst of string instruments and drums, the roar of the crowd that fills the place.

Every face shows a smile, every eye is full of warmth. It’s wild and crazy and freeing, and Callum can’t believe that all these people are here to celebrate difference, not when he spent so many years learning to be ashamed of his truth. But now, he’s right in the middle of it all, surrounded and clinging on to every last second of it. 

They get bumped into by a few people, jostling them back and forward. Callum falls into Ben’s chest and giggles, lets himself be wrapped up in this moment, in Ben’s arms and the buzz of everyone around them.

Ahead, Callum can see Lola singing along with Jay, and he’s so grateful for this little group they’ve created, they’ve both found their place - _and their people_ \- here, Callum thinks. In the moment, Callum feels as though he’s barely here, rather he’s one of the people on the outside, watching on and wishing for a brighter future.

But then he hears Ben singing along, feels his fingers dig in and his hair under his hands, and he’s reminded that he isn’t an onlooker anymore. He’s not a watcher, observant and quiet. He’s not seeing this all from a distance, he’s not turning his back. He’s right in the centre of it all. He’s part of something. _It’s all he’s ever wanted._

He thrusts the flag above his head with a triumphant hoot, waves it proudly and smiles so hard his cheeks ache, so hard that his eyes water in the spotlights. He doesn’t blink against it, just lets them fill and spill over softly, tiny tears that are gone by the time they reach his chin, soaked up by the love in the room. 

He lets his eyes roam the room then, tries to take in every single detail so he doesn’t forget it, so it never leaves his heart. 

_He knows it never will._

Not when he’s gone through so much to be right here. Not when he knows he’s beaten the odds. Not when he knows that he’s escaped the only thing _, the only person,_ who was holding him down. Not when he has Ben’s hand in his and love thumping through him stronger than his own heartbeat.

He knows this feeling won’t leave him when Ben tips his head back to smile at him with wet eyes, when he thinks of the first time he saw him, and the second and the third. When he recalls every moment he ever laid eyes on him, every touch and whisper, every warm presence.

And later, when the streets are a mess of plastic cups and flags and bursting colours, when the barriers sit wobbly on the streets and music spills from the bars and shops all through the night, Callum knows, more than anything, that this is where he’s supposed to be.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“I’ll get two of the chips and gravy – cheese on top too, please,” Callum says as he reaches Kathy’s Café burger van, fumbling with the coins in his hands. 

“Sure, love,” Kathy says, amused and unbothered when he drops some of his change onto the counter, struggling to pluck it from his pockets.

“Sorry,” he smiles apologetically, finally handing her the right change, a little flustered. His hair is stuck to his neck, fallen victim again to the muggy, trapped air inside, and the misty, light rain that’s been showering intermittently all morning. 

“No harm done,” she says, and then, “how’s that son of mine treating you?” 

Callum drags his fingers through his hair, wincing when they get caught in wet knots. “Uh, yeah, good. He’s _—_ he’s brilliant, really.” 

It’s out now. The clouds settled in this deep blue, tinged with blacks and greys and swallowing up the sky. They’d floated in silently over the beach this evening, cracked open and split the sky in two with short bursts of sun, and have been lingering since. 

“That’s what I like to hear,” Kathy replies, gentle smile shining her face. “I know he can be a bit, well, _Ben,_ sometimes, but he’s a good lad. And this is the happiest I’ve seen him in a long time. Since, y’know.” 

“Paul?”

“Oh,” Kathy says, this surprised noise plucking from her throat. “He’s told you about Paul, has he?”

“Yeah,” Callum admits, a sadness twinging at his heart. “Yeah, he told me what happened. I think he’s so brave, and I’m sure you already know that, but I just want you to know I think the world of him too, Kathy.” 

“Oh, Cal,” she coos, one hand coming to rest over her heart. “I know that. I can see it in your eyes. Now take your disgusting concoction of food, and go and have a good night. The pair of you.” 

As he makes his way back into the pub, he looks over to the beach, the sea lit by only the thin strip of moonlight. The lump in Callum’s chest expanding and cracking his ribs. He thinks back to the first time he saw it, the beach, cold and tired and squinting against glary streetlights, a stranger with kind eyes and a gentle smile saving his night. Or, his entire summer. 

_He takes a moment to admit it to himself; he fell in love at the beach._

“Callum?” 

He startles slightly, pulling his eyes away from the sea. Logan is standing on the other side of the path, apprehension in his gaze, flicking at the cigarette in his fingers.

“Hey,” he says. He bites her bottom lip into her mouth slowly, frizzy hair pulled back with too much gel. Callum hates the way he’s looking at him. Something twisted and thick slides through his stomach. 

“Where’s Ben?” He says. 

“Inside,” Callum says. “I’ve just got us something to eat.” 

“Right,” he breathes, leaning around him to peer out onto the beach. “Do you, um. Do you have a minute?” 

Callum furrows his brow. “Yeah…?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” is the only explanation he gives Callum. 

“Right,” he says. “Okay?” 

“You want a smoke?” Logan offers, extending the cigarette towards him.

“I don’t smoke,” he says. “Thanks, though.” 

It’s awkward and tense, and Logan keeps opening her mouth and closing it again, staring down at the hole Callum is making in the ground with his toe. His nails are digging into his skin, and there’s a drain running close by, this annoying, echoed drip-drip-drip that fills the silence with a stilted rhythm. He glances up, watches the clouds and prays for them to break open so he has an excuse to run back inside. 

“Listen,” Logan says, slowly, expression rolling through judgement and jealousy and apprehension like a wave, brows pulling together then relaxing as he finally meets his eyes again. “This thing, with Ben. Is it serious?” 

Callum blinks at him, a little taken aback. “What?”

“Just answer me,” he says, edging on exasperated. 

“I... I don’t know,” Callum says, doesn’t think of the _I love you’s_ flooding his heart.

“Have you talked about it?” Logan huffs. “Like, at all?”

“No,” he says, swallowing. “Why do you care?” 

He didn’t mean for it to come out so gritted, so defensive, but he’s only heard bad things about his Logan, only ever been met with a coolness that puts him on edge. “I care about what happens to Ben, that’s all.”

“Why are you having this conversation with me, then?” Ben says. 

“Because I know Ben,” he says, and takes a slow drag, “and I know that you ain’t right for him. I know what he wants, and it ain’t you.”

Callum’s breath catches in his throat slightly, and he almost chokes, brows raising into his hairline, fingers curling deeper. “What?” he says again. It comes out as an absurd puff of laughter. 

Logan sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “He’s going to break your heart, Callum.” 

“He won’t,” Callum says, quick and thin, pulse already pushing against his temples. He can feel the blood in his face draining towards his heart, threatening to burst. 

“Yes, he will,” Logan says, half determined, half threatening. Callum curls his shoulders in, blinks at the sludged ground and tries to breathe through the crushing hand around his throat. He didn’t expect this conversation, and it isn’t fair. _It’s not fucking fair._

“You’re wrong,” he whispers. He thinks of their mornings wrapped together, Ben’s teeth playful on his neck, laughter and soft kisses, of the sunlight on the lake and the grit of sand between their clasped fingers. “I know him too, and I know you’re wrong.” 

“I’m not,” he says. “You think he’s brilliant and brave and caring don’t you? But he ain’t, not when it matters. You’ll just be another name from another summer, mate. Trust me, I’d know.” 

Hot spikes of anger sear through his spine, up the nape of his neck, bringing a warm flush, a burning sensation behind his eyes. _“Shut up, Logan.”_

“What? Do you really think you’re the first city boy he’s ever taken interest in?” He says, sharp, shaking his head. Callum flinches a little, and all the breath whooshes out of his chest in one, smooth motion, ribs cracking and collapsing on top of his lungs. 

_Do you really think you’re the first?_ Callum feels sick, feels physically ill at the thought of anyone else touching Ben like he has, of anyone else knowing him the way he does, of anyone else being so close. _Do you really think you’re the first?_ He thinks of his name scratched on the cave wall, and comes close to tears when he wonders if any of the names around his belong to someone like him. Wonders if Ben let someone else in like he has with Callum, wonders if there’s another boy out there that’s stood in the warm, pillowy light of that tiny room upstairs, a box full of paintings for each boy, maybe. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Callum whispers, after a painfully long silence, his arms wrapped around his quivering stomach now. 

“I _was_ the first boy,” Logan says with so much heat it burns Callum’s skin. _“_ Well, the first after Paul anyway. I hung onto him all summer, but the second the Autumn term started up again, I didn’t exist to him anymore. We’ve been on and off since then, it’ll only be a matter of time till we’re on again.” 

Callum shakes his head, breathing in sharply. “I ain’t listening to this, you’re obviously just some desperate ex still hung up on–” 

“No,” Logan cuts him off sharply, and there’s an intensity in his stare. “I’m telling you, man to man, that you need to get out, whilst you still can.” 

“I don’t want to get out,” Callum says thickly. “I don’t want to leave him.”

"Well, don't say I didn't warn you." 

“I should go,” Callum stands shakily, throat dry and full of lumps. Tiny ripples start to appear in the puddles around their feet, another band of misty rain pulling in from across the sea. “I’ll see you around.”

With that, he turns to cross the road, not looking as the honk of a car horn makes his whole body flinch, pitching him forward and almost making him drop the food as he scrambles up onto the footpath, and back into the safety of the Queen Vic. 

Callum’s stomach drops entirely as he opens the door and slides inside, fat rain droplets slapping against the windshield in intermittent bursts. 

“Oh, finally,” Ben sighs out, grinning wide and sunny as he takes the chips from Callum’s hands. “I thought you’d bloody died. Or worse, you’d been kidnapped and questioned by my Mum.” 

Callum stares at him, the sharp, curved line of his jaw, the spread of his lashes on the tips of his cheeks when he rips open the bag, gravy-smell wafting up all heady and rich. His skin is glowing and soft, so tanned and smooth and gorgeous, the knots of his hair mussed as ever, but not from the ocean, from Callum’s hands this time. He’s gorgeous, otherworldly. _Callum wants to cry._

“Mm, she almost had me,” he manages to say, and Ben looks up at him, crinkly eyed and as he laughs. 

“She’s a nightmare,” he says, popping a gravy clogged chip into his mouth, cheese sticking to his bottom lip. “Mm. They get better every time.” 

Callum forces himself to laugh, but it’s almost lost under the sounds of the terrible 80’s pop song bouncing from the walls _. How many people know you like I know you?_ Callum thinks, blinks away hot tears when Ben shovels chips awkwardly into his mouth, humming along to the tune.

It feels like they’re in a tiny bubble, trapped and locked away from everyone else, despite the place being heaving still. Ben is watching him, a gentle smile on his face, and when he leans forward and seals their lips together, a few delicate, wet presses, thumb pushing up gently against Callum’s jaw, his heart comes back to life. 

_Nobody. Nobody knows you the way I do._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


They spend the next few days wrapped around each other, quiet in their little bubble of happiness. Callum sees Lola in passing, mostly. They’re both spending more time at Ben and Jay’s house than the other would ever admit, but it’s nice that they can still be together. Some nights they team up to cook dinner for the boys, dancing along to their favourite songs in the kitchen, sending the boys off for a few hours. Other nights, whilst Ben and Jay are playing an intense game of FIFA, they’ll sneak upstairs, Lola with a book in tow, and read to each other in the dim light, cuddled close like many times before. 

Tonight though, Ben has taken Callum out. They’re at a restaurant called The Seafront, Callum doesn’t know whether it’s endearing or lazy, but he supposes that there isn’t much need for fancy labels when it’s the only place around here to go for anything other than pub food. Simple and straightforward, he supposes. He likes it.

Out the very front, tiny streams of smoke waft up from an area enclosed by walls of glass, tinted orange and red from the lights hanging from the sturdy wooden beams overhead. 

He feels a little choked up too quickly, it’s beautiful, this place, the kind of place you’d bring somebody special, Callum thinks. 

“Let’s go in, yeah?” Ben says then, fingers insistent and firm.

Inside, Callum is enveloped in pleasant warmth and 70’s blues, the clinking of glasses and hushed chatter of diners. It’s all dark brick and deep wood, a mix of honey and oak and glazed oranges. Along the wall to their left, a row of booths sit, deep red and secretive. 

Ben leads them to a seat close to the booths, one tucked away right in the corner. It’s then that he notices how tiny the booths are, and that when he shifts to get comfortable, he can feel Ben’s knee brushing his own. Their legs are practically interlocked.

Their dishes come out steaming before long. Callum had let Ben order, admitting his place was way too posh for him to understand half of the menu. He regrets it now though, considering Ben has ordered muscles or something equally as awful. 

“Filthy local, you are,” Callum says, leaning over to ruffle Ben’s hair as he does. 

“Alright, city slicker,” Ben says. “Don’t knock ‘em til you try ‘em.”

“They look, um,” Callum makes a face. Ben grins up at him and cracks open the first shell to pull the mussel out with a little fork. “Grim.” 

“They’re amazing” he pops it into his mouth, then closes his eyes and smiles around his mouthful. “Trust me.”

Callum glares and starts eating.

And maybe, just maybe Ben was right this once. 

Callum spends the remainder of the night feeling full and warm, a little fuzzy around the edges from the rich red wine they’ve shared between them. Ben has reclined against the side of the booth, glass in hand. Their legs are tilted together this way, tucked under and over one another warmly. 

Their quiet chatter is interrupted eventually. _Logan._ In the light of the bar, he looks softer around the edges, maybe even a little friendly, but Calum knows otherwise; Ben too, he assumes. Ben’s mouth tightens a little, shoulders drawn tight. 

“Hey, Logan.”

“Hi,” Logan says eagerly, and he’s completely ignoring Callum’s presence tonight, it seems. “Just wondering if you were still up for that catch-up, we could grab a beer once you’re done here, or…?”

Finally, he trails his eyes over to Callum slowly, mouth turning down. Ben lets out a sigh and sips his drink, then wipes his thumb over his mouth.

“No thanks,” he says plainly. Logan’s eyes flicker, what Callum thinks might be hurt, or maybe even jealousy.

“I just thought that, y’know,” he makes an odd jerking motion with his head, “The other night, at pride, you said _—"_

“Sorry,” Ben dismisses, swirling his wine distractedly.

“Right,” Logan takes an awkward step back. “Fine. Maybe another time then. Bye, Ben.”

“See ya,” Ben flicks his eye down to the table and waits for Logan to leave before he lifts them again, gauging Callum’s reaction.

“That was... odd,” Callum says, trying to hide any accusation from his voice. Ben lets out another sigh and leans his elbow on the table, body shifting forward.

“You let a guy fuck you a couple of times and suddenly it’s love,” he rolls his eyes lightly and picks up his glass with both hands. Callum can feel his cheeks heating, a spike of unwarranted jealously cursing through his bones.

“He doesn’t do that all the time, does he”?” Callum asks carefully. “Like, he doesn’t give you any trouble or anything?”

“No,” Ben says. “He just won’t seem to go away. I think the last time we hooked up was about a year ago. Drives me up the wall.”

“Jeez,” Callum huffs a laugh. “Surely there’s someone else around here that he can get along with?”

“Well, you can say there are plenty of fish in the sea,” Ben starts, “but right here we’re all in a tiny, overflowing town. It’s a bit hard to find fresh faces.”

“And it’s nothing more than that?” Callum finishes the last of his drink, hiding his face behind his glass. 

Ben bites the end of his straw into the corner of his mouth, sips it long and slow and watches Callum carefully. “Nope. Not anymore, anyway.”

Callum has nothing left to drink, so he just rests his glass against his lips to trap the words threatening to tumble out. He can feel the tips of his ears burning, can feel both safety and jealousy beating at every pulse.

Callum swallows. “Fair enough.”

It comes out thick and croaky, and Ben knocks their knees together, teeth folding over his bottom lip in amusement. Then they’re just watching each other, cards on the table, both fully aware of the silence that’s taken over, and the intensity of the moment. 

“I should get you home, huh?” Ben says, lip quirking.

 _Home,_ Callum thinks, _me and you._


	5. Chapter 5

The sky is growing dark by the time they find a spot on the beach, the humidity of the day finally having sunk down to something bearable. Callum turns to Ben as they sit on the sand, side by side, his shirt buttons are halfway undone, the collar hanging too far off one shoulder.

“Looks like it’s just you ‘n me, city slicker,” Ben says. It’s ridiculous, it’s been nothing but the two of them all day, all week in fact, but Callum is pretty sure his insides are burning at the thought. 

Callum tips his head back onto the sand, feels Ben’s calloused hand land on his bare knee. He looks at the stars scattered across the sky, unobstructed by pollution or fog or anything, for once - just hundreds and thousands of them, right there and so, so clear.

“You can’t see them in London, you know,” Callum says. Ben looks at him curiously, absently tracing patterns with his index finger. Callum tilts his chin to the sky, and Ben follows his gaze, realisation dawning on his face when he gets it.

“Really?”

“Yeah. They’re the first thing I fell in love with when I first joined the army, made the world seem so much bigger than it was. And this place, it’s just so different—I feel different, free. There aren’t enough stars in the sky to explain this feeling.”

He doesn’t even have to mention that Ben’s a part of what makes it that way, too.

It’s true, though; the stars are the first thing he fell in love with. He definitely doesn’t mention that Ben is the second thing.

“Oh, so you’re just using me for the hot stargazing spots?” Ben snorts.

“Obviously.”

 _“Obviously,”_ Ben echoes, tsking and shaking his head. Callum laughs, reverting his gaze to the water. There’s something transfixing about the way the moonlight reflects off of it, this argent-silver shimmer dancing across the surface. There’s a lull in the conversation, and then—

“We should go skinny dipping.”

Ben already has his shirt off. Callum’s eying him sceptically, a little concerned, face scrunching at his brows. 

“Callum, I’ve lived here my whole life and I’ve never once been skinny dipping,” Ben continues, as if that’s reason enough. _“Even Jay has!”_

“There’s probably a reason for that.” 

“Cheeky,” Ben says, swatting at Callum’s forearm half-heartedly. “I just feel like going for a swim, is that too much to ask?” 

“I ain’t sure—"

“I might drown if I go out there on my own, you wouldn’t want that would you?” Ben reasons, watching Callum’s internal conflict as he slowly sets his beer beside him on the sand, smirking as Ben drops his jeans.

“Fine, fine,” Callum conforms. “But I ain’t taking my boxers off, you’ve no idea what’s lurking around in there.” 

“Fair point.” 

“God, this is a bad idea,” Callum says, but he’s moving closer, his fingers curling up into small fists, anticipation burning his fingertips. 

“Great,” Ben says. “Summer’s full of bad ideas.”

“Hm, and _you’re_ the worst idea I’ve ever had,” Callum replies, nothing but a soft smile behind his words. 

It makes Ben laugh, the softest sound Callum’s ever heard a person make, softer than moonlight on ocean spray, than the wispy strands of a dandelion landing in the sand. And then, when they do kiss, when Ben leans forward and slots his bottom lip between Callum’s, it’s softer than any terrible metaphor Callum’s drunken mind could ever think up. 

_It feels too soft for summer love._

Ben barely lets them finish the kiss, Callum chasing his lips and coming up with cool air as Ben pulls them along the sand, running like children with hungry bellies. They reach the foot of the water before long, shirts and shorts discarded along the way. The stillness of the water surprises Callum, as well as the cold. For all that he pants and moans about the stifling heat during the day, it sure is fucking freezing in here at night, and he has to shake himself when the water laps their waistlines, just to get over the shock of it. 

They splash around like children for a while, with the ultimate goal of getting as much seawater in the other’s eyes and mouth as possible. Ben doesn’t play fair, of course, using Callum’s clumsiness to his advantage until he’s got him under the water, squabbling with Ben from deep under. It ends when Callum lurches forward and heaves Ben up by the thighs, with a frustrating amount of ease, at that. Instinctively, Ben yelps and wraps his legs around Callum’s waist.

Ben tightens his legs in no time, face coming eye level with Callum’s. There’s a drop of water beading right in the centre of his bow and Callum wants to lick it away, so he does, Ben’s mouth cold and slippery against his own. He means it to be chaste, soft, but Ben’s not having that tonight, slick mouth chasing Callum’s as soon as he moves to pull back. Callum lets him have it.

It's not easy, _kissing,_ when you can’t feel your lips, and the water makes it so Callum has to fight to keep Ben close enough, both hands gripping either side of his thighs, but they make it work.

When they finally break away, ragged breathing and eyes wide, Ben’s hand finds Callum’s cheek, keeps his mouth parted with his thumb as they stare at each other. Everything is wet and dripping and suffocating and Callum doesn’t want to let go. _Not today, not tomorrow, and definitely not in fifteen days time._ Even in the dark, he can see the flush of Ben’s cheeks, can feel it, how much warmth is radiating from him. He can’t look away. If he looks away, he might wake up. 

“Promise we’ll always have this,” Callum dares to say. Under the blanket of the stars, he feels protected.   
  
“Have what?” 

_“This,”_ he whispers.

The night is a fluttering heartbeat and the world whispers a silent, unheard tales of _nothing lasts forever._

“Promise,” Ben says, linking their pinkies together gently. In the thickness of the water, it feels like their bones are melting as one.

 _You’ve changed my life,_ Callum thinks, eyes hot as Ben kisses him again, both hands cupping roughly at Callum’s jaw. _You’re doing it now. Every time you look at me, you alter a piece of me. And nothing will be the same once I go back home. You’ll be the boy in my dreams._ _A hole in my heart._

“You saved my life, I think,” Callum says, quiet and distant below the stars.

“Yeah?” Ben whispers. Everything feels weighty, suddenly.

“Yeah,” Callum whispers back. “Don’t know much longer I’d have lasted.”

“You saved mine, too.” 

And Callum knows, in that moment, that he’ll see Ben everywhere, in everything, until he never sees him at all, and even then. Because there’s a moment in which somebody becomes so much a part of someone else, they can no longer be recognised as two separate people. 

_This is Callum’s moment._

**fourteen days to go**

The rain comes after that night, and it looks like it’s going to stay that way for days.  
  
They spend their nights playing Fifa on the Xbox and watching questionable romcoms and talking for hours. They kiss and fuck and nap, settle into each other and savour this time. _It's limited now._ _  
_   
Callum is almost grateful for the rain. He doesn’t want to leave Ben’s side.   
  
Whenever the thought of packing up and going home enters his mind, he tries to push it away as quickly as possible, replaces it with the sea and stars and _Ben_ . It sends a spike of panic through his chest, and he’ll burrow further into Ben’s side wordlessly. He doesn’t have to say anything, because Ben knows.   
  
Callum is scheduled to leave two weeks today. _Fourteen days._

He doesn’t want to admit that he’s almost scared to go back home, back to the bustle and the thick, polluted air of London. Back to the city his Dad is in, to the home he’s loved and lost, the busy streets that leave his heart empty.  
  
He doesn’t want summer to be just another distant memory.   
  
“Hey,” Ben lifts his head from where he’s sucking a mark on Callum’s collarbone, lips shiny in the silver light. “You okay, city slicker? You disappeared then.”   
  
Callum blinks his gaze away from the ceiling and rubs his palms over Ben’s back, nodding. “Yeah, sorry. Just got lost my head for a second.”   
  
Ben doesn’t look convinced, and he pulls back a little when Callum leans up to kiss him. “What’s wrong?”   
  
“Nothing,” Callum bumps their mouths together, thumbs massaging the dimples at the bottom of Ben’s spine.   
  
“It’s not nothing,” Ben frowns, pulling away again. “Cal, you know you can talk to me.”   
  
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Callum says, but his voice comes out thick and wrong and Ben’s eyes soften, fingers caressing Callum’s cheeks.   
  
“You don’t have to,” Ben whispers, and he smiles sadly. “I already know.”   
  
Callum nods again, swallowing as he wraps his arms around Ben’s waist completely, tugging him close. The duvet is tucked around their shoulders, and Ben snuggles into Callum’s neck, lets his mouth rest there as they lie together, just breathing. Callum’s throat feels tight, his eyes burning and threatening to grow wet. 

It’s so silent, the town fast asleep. Only the wet pitter-patter of rain on the roof accompanies their slow breathing. Callum closes his eyes and tries to memorise the feel of Ben’s body entirely, all the places their joints meet, where warm skin touches. It hurts to breathe, almost.  
  
“I told myself I wouldn’t say this, for both our sakes,” Ben says softly. “But I don’t want you to go.”   
  
Callum lets out a broken sound and kisses Ben’s head, holds him tighter. “Ben. _Don’t._ ”   
  
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and it’s almost a hiss, how quickly it tumbles out of his mouth, tight and strained. “I don’t want you to leave. _I don’t want you to leave me.”_ _  
_   
“I have to,” Callum says miserably. “Our times up at the park soon, it’s closing for the season and I could never afford the house prices down here.”   
  
“It’s shit,” Ben’s fingers dig into his ribs. “It’s all I can think about, you not being here. Who am I supposed to go stargazing with now?”   
  
Callum lets out a wet laugh, wobbly and broken. “Jay?”   
  
“Maybe I will,” Ben smiles against his skin. “We could lie under the stars, hold hands and maybe, just maybe he’ll fall madly in love with me.”   
  
“In your dreams,” Callum protests. _“Idiot.”_ _  
_   
“ _Your_ idiot,” Ben hums, reaching up to loop his fingers through it. Callum closes his eyes so they don’t spill over. “Your _everything.”_   
  
That sends Callum’s heart shaking, sends pinpricks of heat and pain spreading through his chest and down his stomach. Because he can’t remember the last time he thought that true, that somebody could be every part of him, _like every part of him,_ someone other than his mum. He feels like he’s never truly been himself, because he’s always had to shy away from it. But here, he’s Callum, he’s got his heart on his sleeve and his eyes wide open, and Ben has taken him with open arms.   
  
“I don’t want to go back to London,” he whispers. “I like it here. I like the sea and the stars and how simple it all is. I like the days spent on the beach, the nights in the beer gardens and watching you fix cars. I like the sun setting on the bridge, our bridge, and the cheesy double dates with Lo and Jay. _And you._ None of that is in London. _You’re_ not in London.”   
  
He’s aware of how thick his voice sounds; choked up and raw, and how hot and misty his eyes have gotten. Ben is a feather on his chest, but there’s something else pushing its hands down, something else sitting like a huge, blue weight.   
  
“You know,” Ben starts, tracing his fingers over Callum’s collarbone, “I’ve been thinking about when you’re going to be gone, and how I’m going to be left the way I was before, and it’s not going to feel the same. There’s going to be something constantly missing, something wrong. And that scares me, Callum. I’m scared to let you go.”   
  
“So am I,” Callum swallows. “I don’t know how I’m going to cope, being without you. I’m not going to be able to sleep again, that’s for sure.”   
  
“We shouldn’t do this,” Ben inhales suddenly, quick and hurt, and his voice is wobbling too. “Let’s stop talking, alright? Let’s just—just stop talking about it.”   
  
Callum clenches his eyes shut, dips his head down to find Ben’s mouth blindly. It’s bruising and desperate and it almost hurts, but Callum just furrows his brow and digs his fingers in, swallows the noises Ben makes and tries his best to keep his own in his chest. If he speaks again, all that comes out will be a crying stutter.   
_  
_ _They have two weeks left._

**ten days to go**

The thing that Callum knows now is that to love feels good, and then it feels lonely, it’s a beautiful, bright sunrise and then it’s an empty flat at midnight, it's fading lilac bruises on a neck you aren’t sure belongs to you any more, it’s the pale pastels of a flowers petal, he loves me, he loves me not. 

Callum breathes out slowly, shakily, resting his forehead down against the cold tile of the bathroom wall. The shower water washes over him like a storm, warm on his neck and down his back. He closes his eyes tight, slipping back into the soft sound of shower trickling around him, matting his hair down until it's slick and wet and falling into his eyes

Everything is hazy and out of focus and Callum just wants to go back to a time where he knew what he was doing, where he knew that he was loving somebody who loved him right back, now, he’s not so sure. 

They haven’t spoken for days, not properly, not how Callum has wanted. They’ve just slept in the same bed with an endless stretch of distance between them—always orbiting but never coming close, never looking, never talking. They’ve moved around each other like two planets in an empty universe; just him and Ben, tucked away in the brightest corner of the galaxy, an indefinite space that goes on and on. 

Callum figured that they'd come back together at some point. Soon, because the one thing they don’t have much of, is time

It’s sundown now, and Callum’s perched on the end of the bed, numbly folding his clothes into his backpack when Ben comes tumbling through the door, sighing, ruffled and flustered. 

Callum pauses and turns to look at him over his shoulder.

He’s been here, at Ben’s house, all afternoon, cleaning, cooking dinner for the both of them, lighting a few candles and hoping to spend the night curled around each other. But after waiting two hours, and not hearing a word from Ben, that once familiar, now foreign feeling of sadness, _sadness and anger,_ had consumed Callum, leading to the dinner hitting the bin before it’d even been touched.

“Hey,” Ben says casually. Callum just looks at him, half-folded shirt crumpling in his lap. They’d spent time together this morning, dedicating their attention solely to the pleasure of the other, quiet as they did so, faces tucked away in each other’s necks. And Ben had been so clingy, wrapped his legs around Callum and breathed these broken whimpers into Callum’s ear. That seems like a world away now. “What?”

“Nothing,” Callum murmurs, and he doesn’t need to meet Ben’s eyes to know he heard him. The bed dips slightly behind him as Ben sits down.

“What are you doing?” he says slowly. 

Callum reaches for one of his jackets, the one that’s been buried in Ben’s drawer all summer. “What does it look like?” 

There’s silence again, and it stretches static and awful. Callum breathes slowly through his nose and closes his eyes for a moment. Ben starts to drift closer, he can feel the phantom weight of his body, his hands reaching for him, and he can smell the alcohol on him, underneath ocean spray. 

“Where were you?” Callum asks, without looking up. “I made dinner.” 

“Nowhere,” Ben answers, and Callum’s jaw clenches.

“I can smell alcohol on you,” Callum says. When Ben scoffs, Callum does turn, tiny pinpricks of annoyance flaring up, vines on fire. “Were you with Logan again?”

“Yeah,” Ben says, nonchalant. “So what? What’s that look for?” 

Callum shrugs. “Don’t matter.” 

“Obviously it does,” Ben says, tense and short. 

“It’d just be nice to know where you are,” Callum says. “Especially when I’m here by myself, cooking you dinner, keeping your bed warm, y’know.”

“It’s not your job to keep tabs on me,” Ben snaps, so sudden and biting that Callum flinches. Ben seems to come back to himself after a moment, “I’m not a kid, Callum.” 

“No, I know you ain’t,” Callum says carefully, and Ben gaze drags to meet his, slowly, level and unwavering. “I care about you, Ben. What’s going on?” 

“Nothing,” he says softly, reaching for Callum’s hand, a look in his eyes that reads _I know what will fix this._ “There’s nothing going on.” 

“Don’t,” Callum pushes, wet and dangerous. “We can’t just—that won’t fix anything, Ben.” 

“There’s nothing that needs to be fixed,” he says, determined. “We’re fine.”

“Yeah, fine, maybe. But good? Not anymore,” Callum voices, and maybe he’s being too honest now, too sincere, but he doesn’t know how to be anything but. “These last couple of weeks Ben, I’ve felt us drifting further and further apart, and I’ve tried to stop it, tried to glue over the cracks, but when I’m the only one trying, it’s hard. You make me _so_ happy, the happiest I’ve _ever_ been, but lately, I’ve felt that that loneliness you promised me you wouldn’t ever let me feel again. That same loneliness as when my Mum died, when I left the army, when Dad kicked me out.” 

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m so sorry,” Ben says quickly, sitting up all wide-eyed and crawling towards Callum. “Everything’s fine, yeah? You’re gorgeous, and there’s nothing wrong, and please stop pouting?” 

They laugh softly, and Callum attempts a smile, but it does nothing to quell the slow sinking of his stomach. Ben cups his jaw gently, sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and kisses him wet and open, slow and full and stroking his thumb up by his hair. Callum wants to cry, wants to pull away and push at Ben’s chest and demand answers, demand to know why everything suddenly feels so heavy and awful when it hasn’t for all this time, why Ben is drifting and closing up. 

“Kiss me back then,” Ben whispers, and Callum slowly comes back to himself, realizes he’s still holding his jumper, and he’s gone slack mouthed, and Ben is watching him with this intensity that feels out of place, too much. 

Still, he kisses him back, loud and bruising, because there’s nobody here except them and he wants to feel like he’s not the only one that still cares about this, about them. After, when they’re laid together, and Ben is rubbing his palms up and down Callum’s back in smooth glides, sucking a wet mark under his jaw, there’s a strange calm that falls around them. Callum is afraid to shift, afraid to disturb it, so he lays there until he falls asleep, trying to memorise the exact press of Ben’s fingers in the dips of his spine. 

He wishes he could capture moments like these, print grainy little screenshots, hang them up in his mind, keep them forever, so that when the inevitable comes, and he has to go back to London, he’ll still have _something._

**seven days to go**

The remainder of the week passes in this slow, syrupy way. It’s been the hottest week yet, the summer now on a back burner. Callum isn’t sure if he’s asleep or awake for most of it, drifting through the muggy, wet days with heavy eyes. 

Ben drifts through this space too, weaving in and out of his thoughts hazily, a kiss here, a touch there, laughter against his neck. But for Callum, there're not many smiles, rather hidden tears shining in his eyes, especially on those nights Ben doesn’t come home until the moon is clawing through the clouds. Stilted silences seem to appear out of nowhere, cutting through their conversations until they fall together with biting kisses and soft hands, physically barrelling their way through it all so that there’s nothing to think about but heat and touch.

On the Saturday, they have a stupid fight that isn’t even a fight. Ben wants to go out to a party just out of town, with Logan and some other summer boys, one of the last summer parties, according to him. And it shouldn’t be a big deal, it shouldn’t even matter, but something ugly and dark festers in Callum’s chest, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s refusing to go, and Ben is rolling his eyes at him, huffing and slipping out of bed to get dressed. 

Callum tries to call him back, eyes burning, panic clawing at his throat. He knows he shouldn’t be jealous, that he shouldn’t be this possessive of Ben’s attention, but he is, and it won’t go away. There’s no time left for them, and they still haven’t talked, and he just wants to cry at the thought of spending another night alone in these sheets, waiting for headlights to flash up the hill and turn down the street. 

But Ben goes, leaves Callum with a kiss on the cheek that he pulls away from sharply. Ben lingers, just for a moment, and their eyes meet in something pained, tainted with uncertainty and a feeling unknown to Callum. He eats dinner alone, cleans the dishes, and crawls into bed by nine o’clock, hating himself for being so upset about something so silly, but also for staying behind when he should have just gone, should have just pushed his fears aside and gone to the party, just like Lola had with Jay. 

He’s woken up by a thump at two in the morning, dragging, drunken feet and the obnoxious slam of the front door. It’s raining out, just barely, a gentle, consistent tapping at the window, misty blue light fogging the glass. Keys ring out as they’re dropped onto the table, shoes thud against the stairs. Callum curls further around the sheets, keeps his body silent when the door creaks open, and still when Ben struggles out of his jacket and jeans, fabric rustling. 

He reeks of cheap beer and vodka, or fire and of other people, and Callum tries not to cry when the bed dips behind him, pretends to be asleep when Ben shuffles around him. But then, there’s silence, so heavy and frozen, and Ben doesn’t move. Callum can feel the weight of his body on the edge of the bed, can feel his eyes burning into the back of his neck like he’s just laying there, watching. 

It stays this way for so long that Callum almost falls back asleep, growing drowsy while he listens to Ben breathing behind him. Finally, Ben releases a slow, unsteady breath, and the mattress starts to shift, his figure sliding closer. 

A tentative, warm hand settles over Callum’s hip as Ben curls up around him. He wants to turn over now, wants to turn the lights on and talk and cry, spill his guts about everything just so he feels like he doesn’t have to hang onto every lingering moment so delicately, so he doesn’t have to tread over every word and touch and look. He doesn’t though. He remains still, tries to stop his body from flinching and shifting as Ben presses a gentle kiss over his shoulder blade, leaving a shaky breath over Callum’s skin. 

It takes him far too long to register the wetness that drops along his shoulder, tiny pearls that slink down his back. Ben cries silently. Callum opens his eyes in an instance, about to turn over, chest steadily clogging with dizzy panic, when Ben pushes his forehead right up against the centre of his shoulders, brow furrowed so hard that Callum can feel it, can feel the pained, pinched expression that Ben is hiding as his shoulders shake.

Ben curls closer, gentle and delicate, trying not to wake him, and lets out in the quietest, most broken whisper, “I love you.” 

All sound is sucked away, all air gone, and it’s just the echo of those words in Callum’s mind, surging and swirling and dragging him somewhere dark and yet lighter than ever before. There’s a thundering weight in his chest, heart sinking into his stomach, stomach rising into his chest, and along the way everything gets muddled and tangled together. Ben is still crying, choked as he tries to keep himself quiet, and Callum’s own eyes are filling with misty tears, burning hot, a warmth rushing up to squeeze at his neck. 

This is the part where Callum should roll over, he should bundle Ben up in his arms and wipe his tears away and they’ll talk, they’ll lay each other bare in the most intimate way, share secrets and stories and truths, and Callum will say; _I love you too._

Callum doesn’t turn over, though. Ben falls asleep quickly, in the end, his shuddery breaths turning into exhausted, shaky heaves of his chest, before he finally settles against Callum’s back. Callum lies awake in the dark, lips bitten so harshly into his mouth he tastes blood, eyes swimming until he can hardly see, and he lets the tears rest in a sheen over his eyes so that the world is blurry and no longer real. 

He should be relieved, he should be happy, _so happy_ , he doesn’t understand why he feels so devastated and that just makes him even more upset, chest trembling gently, refusing to let the tears flood over. He’s wanted those words for _so long,_ and he thinks he’s probably been hearing it underneath everything between them for a while now. But now they’re here, overturned and washed up on the shore, he feels a strange panic settling in his chest, wanting to run closer and grasp it, but also to run away. Maybe that panic stems from the knowledge he only has seven days left here. Only seven days left with the man he _loves_. 

He doesn’t sleep, not really, and when the sun starts to rise, dappled and broken through the clouds, Ben shifts behind him, murmurs _good morning_ , _city slicker_ in his ear, smiling against his neck like nothing’s changed, paint-stained fingers already slipping down slow over his hips.

**three days to go**

Things seem normal, for the next few days. They appear that way, at least, on the surface. Beneath all that, beneath sunny smiles and quiet touches, Callum’s heart beats thudding viciously against his ribs with a whispered _I love you, I love you, I love you._

_Things seem normal, until they don’t._

It all starts with an offhand comment. 

It’s almost nine o’clock in the evening, dinner done and dishes cleaned. Down the hall, Jay and Lola are watching some chick flick on the television, sounds of laughter carrying through the open door of Ben’s room. Ben is sprawled on the bed behind him, scrolling lazily through his phone. They’ve had a quiet day, spent watching films and kissing and baking cupcakes and kissing some more, trapped inside by the rain. 

Callum is rummaging through Ben’s drawers slowly, the one that’s been designated to his clothes for the past couple months. “Have you seen my shirt?”

He hears Ben snort. “Very specific. You’ve got many shirts, Callum.”

“Shut up,” Callum rolls his eyes and grins at him over his shoulder, purses his lips at the smirk in Ben’s eyes. “The pink one, with the collar? I wore it to the Vic last week?” 

“Ah, yes,” Ben hums in recognition. “Your _way-too-big-for-you_ shirt. For fancy occasions.”

“It’s not fancy,” Callum laughs, “and it’s definitely not too big, thank you very much.” 

“It’ll turn up somewhere,” Ben says. Callum sighs.

“Probably, but I kind of wanted to get all my stuff together by tonight,” he says, staring down at the open drawer. Because that’s a thing. _Packing_. _Time. Home._

It’s quiet for a moment, and then, with a lilt that makes Callum’s fingers twitch, Ben says, “Why?”

Callum pauses, and looks at him over his shoulder. Ben is just staring at him blankly. “What do you mean, _why_?” 

Ben shrugs, and it’s so fucking infuriating, the way he blinks innocently and goes back to typing on his phone. Callum inhales and exhales slowly, jaw clenched. He can barely find it in himself to be angry. Mostly, he just feels defeated, and crushed, and on the verge of crying as he watches Ben tap his feet together, carefully silent and not making eye contact.  
  
“Ben,” Callum grits out, so unlike himself. He doesn’t look up, and Callum slams the drawer closed, breathing in sharply, not missing Ben’s flinch. “Fine. You know what, _fine_.”

He moves across the room, hauls his rucksack up onto the bed and starts to shove his neatly folded clothes inside, scoops up his sunglasses and his phone from the bedside table, throws it all inside messily, tears threatening when the zip gets stuck and won’t budge, and he tugs at it uselessly, full of hurt and fear and something he can’t quite place. 

“Where are you going?” Ben says suddenly, sitting up and watching Callum make a mess, a quiet look of alarm flickering over his features.   
  
“Home,” Callum says, and the word makes him even madder, feels like soap in his mouth when he realizes he’s been calling this place home, too. " _To the caravan. To London_. I don’t know, just anywhere that ain’t here.”   
  
“Don’t go,” Ben says. Callum shakes his head and rounds the bed, but Benis there, springing up and blocking the doorway, hands behind his back and gripping the handle. “Callum, don’t.”   
  
“Why?” Callum exhales harshly. “Why should I stay? Tell me, Ben.”   
  
Ben looks up at him, wide-eyed and shaky. He opens his mouth, closes it. Nothing comes, and Callum scrunches his eyes closed, pulls his lips into his mouth and tilts his head away, trying to fight the misty heat that’s glazing his vision. He feels Ben’s hands, feels them reach for his own slowly, and he wrenches away.   
  
“Don’t,” he spits, wet and broken. “Unless you want to talk, and I mean properly talk, then let me go. You can’t fix this with sex, Ben.”

“That’s not what I—" Ben inhales, sharp and with a flinch of his chest, eyes narrowing and growing cold. “Is that what you think?”  
  
“Who fucking knows what I think,” Callum laughs humorously. “I wouldn’t know, because you won’t tell me anything. I’m leaving in three days, Ben. _Three days!_ And every time I try to even mention it, you cut me off, or—or just disappear on me."   
  
Ben’s hand wraps around his arm. “And why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know, Ben!” he tugs himself out of Ben’s hold, hiccuping a soft cry that he can’t trap quick enough. “That’s the problem, I don’t know.”

He half stumbles across the hall, heading in the direction of the front door, and he’s so aware of Lola and Jay in the lounge, probably hearing all of this.

His face is wet by the time he stumbles down onto the driveway, and he wipes furiously at his cheeks, breathing harshly through his nose, trying to make sense of the jumble in his head, trying to see in the dark, against the bleary glow of the streetlamps.   
  
“Callum!” Ben calls, distant and broken. Callum doesn’t turn around, just keeps walking, grits his teeth when he hears gravel spraying, when he hears footsteps thudding behind him on the footpath, laboured, shaky breathing. “Cal, please. Don’t do this.”

 _This isn’t my fault_ , he wants to scream, fingers curling into fists as he walks speedily down the hill, skin flaring with goosebumps. _I’m not the one disappearing every night. I’m not the one whispering love confession in the dead of night only to act like nothing’s changed the next day. I’m the one who’s trying. I’m the only one who actually cares._

He stays silent, though, and Ben tries to keep up with him, half-jogging to match Callum’s long, determined strides through the darkness, both of them stumbling on broken branches and curbs. Callum’s breath is shuddery and sharp, throat stinging from the cold air that’s flaring up from the ocean, a chilled breeze cutting through the tree line, more biting and harsh the closer they get to the water. Ben is still following him, silent now too, and Callum is two seconds away from just breaking down and crying, from turning around and falling into Ben’s arms.   
  
Ben finally speaks again when they’re on the beach, the sand cold and damp under their toes, wind howling and crying, akin to the feeling in Callum’s heart. 

“Callum, stop! Callum, just—for God’s sake,” Ben speeds up for a moment, breaks into a quick jog so he can jump in front of him, palms up and outstretched. Callum stops in his tracks, Ben stares up at him, wide-eyed, mouth parted, both their chests heaving. He’s got a silver aura, the moon finally peeking through the thick clouds and shooting bullet-like rays along the peaks of the foamy waves. 

“I’m sorry."   
  
Ben is staring stoically out to sea, fingers dragging through the sand. Callum watches his profile, watches the moon frost his outline silver, catching the tips of his eyelashes. He’s the most beautiful person he’s ever seen, unreal yet so, so real, real and raw in the best and worst of ways. He’s not thinking when his shoulders droop, when he follows Ben’s gaze back out to the waves and shakes his head, staring down at his feet.   
  
“I love you, you know?” he murmurs, a sad smile curling over his mouth before he can stop it. The moment the words leave his mouth, he feels something tug in his chest, though it’s more of a rip, a painful tear, blood gushing through his entire body and making his mind swim, vision fuzzy and numb.   
  
“No, you don’t,” Ben whispers, and Callum’s gaze snaps to him, wide-eyed and shocked and broken because he hadn’t expected for him to say _that_ .   
  
“What?” he breathes, tears beading in the corners of his eyes.   
  
“You don’t love me, Callum,” Ben says all too softly, and Callum’s entire heart shatters into a thousand pieces.   
  
“Yes, I do, I _know_ I do,” he says earnestly, but he feels so small, begging and crying while Ben is just staring through him. “I love you, and you love me too.”   
  
Ben lets out a long breath, puts his palms to his eyes and covers his face, digs his fingertips so harshly Callum almost reaches out for him, almost circles his wrists and presses his hands over his heart instead, almost says _take it, it’s yours, don’t you see it belongs to you?_

“This isn’t love, Callum,” Ben says, muffled behind his hands. Callum pulls away from him, recoils, because each word is a nail in the coffin, in his chest, pinpricks in his eyes that burst the fine film keeping his tears in.   
  
“How can you say that?” Callum whispers, choked and lost under the waves crashing, twin pearls sliding along his cheeks and kissing his jaw, hovering there until they fall and dot his shirt. “How can you say that, after everything?”   
  
“Because it’s true,” Ben says, chest heaving with it as he turns his face, fingers curling into loose fists against his cheek. Callum shakes his head, shakes it so much that his brain rattles. “This, _us_ , it’s just temporary Callum. Always has been, always will be.” 

“It doesn’t have to be,” he breathes. “We could be so much more.” 

“How, Callum? _How_?” Ben says, but it doesn’t sound like him at all, blank and void of anything, the words curling around his tongue cold and harsh. Callum’s mouth parts. It feels like the moment right before a bomb goes off, all sound sucked away into a huge vacuum of silence before it bursts out again, destroying everything in its path. “You’re moving back home in three days. Home being over _two hundred_ miles away.” 

“No, you’re wrong,” Callum says, braver than he’s ever felt before. “My home is here, with you. You’re my home, Ben.” 

“I’m not wrong,” Ben says, but his voice sticks at the end, cracking into something painful. “This isn’t love, it can’t be and it never—"

“Fine, if you don’t love me, why follow me out here?” Callum says, wrecked and broken, voice strained from his crying. “If you don’t love me, why didn’t you push me away sooner? If you don’t love me, why did you let me into the things you keep private from everyone else? Why is my name carved into the cave at the beach? Why did you show me all your art? Why did you let me be around your family? If you don’t love me, why did I spend the entire summer living with you, being with you, having sex with you, letting you into my secrets, into my life?”   
  
Ben stares at him, blinking slowly as Callum speaks, voice getting louder and louder, rough and shaking like it’s being torn from his throat, broken apart by hiccuped, hurting sobs, face shiny wet under the moonlight, shoulders shaking with everything that’s pouring out of him. It just hurts, it hurts so much, and the next words come out so, so broken.   
  
“If you don’t love me, why did you fucking tell me that you do?” Callum cries miserably, and everything around him comes crashing down.

Ben’s face is crumpling, a mix of fear and hurt and what Callum hates to think is regret, looking caught out and afraid. He can’t think of anything but Ben’s face pressed up against his skin, sticky from his tears and the words he whispered to Callum. And then he’s going further, thinking over every touch and kiss, right up to the very first, when he’d been so shy and new, to the most recent, brilliant and familiar. 

He wants to hate him, but he can’t. He couldn’t ever. He hates this situation, and he hates what Ben is saying, hates it so much he’s burning with it, but then he glances up, at Ben’s unwavering stare at the water, and he hurts so much with the amount of love he feels, hurts because Ben doesn’t think it’s real, because he’s trying to break this apart in a way that’s convenient for him. _It’s not fair._

For a while, Ben says nothing, picking at the skin on his fingers, mouth pressed into a thin line. And this, this moment, is what Callum has been so terrified of. There’s nothing left to say now, nothing that won’t make them both explode at each other, that won’t make him cry, won’t make him want to walk into the waves until he’s swallowed by the current. Callum knows he has to move, to leave this place and this boy, but his legs feel numb. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to do this, how he’s going to actually walk away from Ben.   
  
The thought crosses his mind then, taunting and terrible, that this could be the last time he sees him. So Callum turns his head, rests his cheek on his shoulder and stares at him, takes everything in, sears every dip of his face into his memory permanently, because he doesn’t want to forget his face. Even if he forgets everything else, all the hurt, all the good things, he doesn’t want to forget _him._ _  
_   
Finally, slowly, like the world is turning on its axis, Ben meets his eye.   
  
“I’m sorry, too,” Ben says, whispered and pained. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. We had fun, you and me, but I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the person you needed in the end.”

 _You were everything I needed. You were everything._   
  
But Callum can’t say that, not now, so he walks away, and when he looks behind him, hating himself the moment he turns his head, Ben’s face is buried in his palms, quiet sobs raking his body, shoulders shuddering. It feels like he’s leaving his heart behind him in a shredded trail, wondering if Ben will pick up the pieces or let the tide rise and swallow it whole, never to be seen again.

It isn’t that late when he stumbles onto the campsite numbly. The light is on inside the caravan, a bleary, smudged yellow, flashes of colour splaying over the laced curtains inside. He’d half expected, half hoped, Lola to rush back. She’s brilliant like that, can read Callum like a book, knows when he needs to be alone, and when he needs someone. Right now, he really, _really_ needs someone. 

“Callum?” Lola calls as he struggles with the door, limbs heavy and bones aching. “Are you alright?”

Her hands clasp his shoulders gently, tipping his face up slightly, and he dreads it, facing her,

She stands to greet him at the door, and immediately her hands clasp his shoulders gently, guiding him onto the sofa, and he dreads it, facing her, dreads the way her face falls, eyes brimmed with concern and anxiety. He knows how this must look, how pathetic he must seem right now, with his face all swollen and snotty, curled around himself uselessly. 

“What—what happened with Ben?” she asks softly. Callum shakes his head once, because that’s all he can do, and then there's a hand in his hair, warmth curling closer as he cries. “Oh, Cal. Come on, you’re alright. You’re okay. Shh.”

“He ended things. just like that, he ended it. _Everything_.” 

“I’m sorry,” she sighs softly. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
“I love him,” he manages to choke out, voice restricting around that four-letter word. _“I love him so much.”_

"I know you do. I know." 

Lola coaxes him up from the sofa eventually, pulls him into his bedroom. She tucks him in, gets him a bottle of water and his tablets, and hides his phone, strokes her hands through his hair over and over until he drifts into a not quite sleep, ignoring the part where she gets up to call Jay, talking softly and painfully between them. 

He doesn’t really remember the last time he actually spent a night at the caravan park, and he sleeps fitfully, woken by every noise, every drag of feet on the gravel, every dog barking or baby screaming. Lola doesn’t come back in, and he curls up into a little ball, hugs his pillow close to his chest, and tries not to think about the other place he’s gotten used to calling home. 

**ten hours to go**

Callum wakes with a start at three in the morning, the door to the caravan has just been slammed shut, the whole thing ricocheting with the force of it.. It’s entirely dark out, and there’s not a sound around him, just the crush of the waves in the distance and the hum of the heater running inside the caravan. Breathing out slow, he rubs the pads of his fingers against his sore, tired eyes and turns onto his side. 

Against his chest, his heart thuds in a dull, confused rhythm, picking up when he hears the drag of feet, hears barely-there breathing that isn’t his own circle from the other side of his door. There’s a moment, overly dramatic and sudden, where he thinks he may actually be about to die. 

His door is pushed open so cautiously, lamp light filling his room suddenly. Callum lies in shock, frozen, as Ben leans his head inside, blinking through the darkness at him. His face is blurred, just shiny eyes and a messy halo of hair, and Callum is filled with both a misty, tearful eyes, and a shattered pulse of heartbreak all in one breath. It takes everything he has not to lunge forward and push him right back out, or kiss him breathless despite everything. 

“Callum?” Ben whispers, and Callum has to close his eyes for a moment, tears threatening to fall from something as simple as Ben saying his name, so softly, so openly, like he didn’t break him to pieces the only days before. 

“What?” he says flatly. 

Ben shuffles inside, head ducked as he closes the door gently behind him, trapping them together in this tiny space. It seems too hot, all the sudden, all the air sucked away until only the electric tension around their bodies remains. Callum sits up slowly, clutching his duvet to his chest like it’ll protect him from whatevers about to come. Before Callum knows it, Ben is so close, knelt right at the edge of the mattress. If Callum tipped forward, let himself lean in and fall right into him, their mouths would fit together seamlessly. 

The quiet around them is a fragile thing, and Callum barely breathes as Ben pulls the sheets from between his fingers slowly, with shaking hands, and then reaches for Callum’s own, fitting their hands together like they were made for it. 

Callum closes his eyes as Ben draws soft circles of his pulse point, clenches his jaw at the flush of goosebumps that tingle up his forearms, his own fingers slowly uncurling in Ben’s grasp. Gradually, he lifts one hand, runs his thumb up along the outside of Callum’s jaw, holding it there. Callum feels soft under Ben’s touch, so achingly familiar that he can’t help but lean into it, letting his eyelids fall shut as he does.

“Ben,” he sighs, desperate for answers, stomach quivering when a hot tear down Ben’s face, leaving traces of pain as it falls onto the duvet. Callum grabs hold of Ben’s wrist, stops the soft drag of his fingers over his skin. Ben flinches, eyes opening, staring back. 

He’s shaking when he leans forward, when he presses their foreheads together, and Callum wants to wrench himself away. Ben’s skin is warm, soft, and he smells like the ocean and something distinctive, yet familiar. Their eyes are reflective, wet, mirrors of each other, and Ben’s breath ghosts over Callum’s lips. It hurts too much to be this close, to let Ben be this close to him.

“Don’t do this,” Callum says miserably, barely above a whisper, scratchy and worn because he’s been silent and crying. 

“I’d miss you too much, if you left,” Ben exhales, all in a broken, trembling rush, and whatever was left of Callum’s shattered heart splits into even smaller pieces, crackles and snaps into atom-sized fragments. Heat prickles in his eyes, and he shakes his head furiously, nose brushing and bumping Ben’s as he lets the first few tears finally slip. 

Callum’s face crumples, and he hiccups a quiet sob. “That’s not what you said the other night.” 

Ben’s face falls at that, and Callum’s mind is tearing itself in two, halfway between being angry and being sorry. But it can’t be true, anything that Ben says to him now can’t be true, and he doesn’t even know why Ben is here, why he’s still bothering Callum when he’s nothing left to him, just a disposable boy that he can replace when the next summer rolls around. 

“I know,” Ben is shaking his head. “But I was wrong. I’m always so wrong.” 

“You hate me,” Callum cries. “You want nothing to do with me.” 

“No,” Ben’s thumb catches over his bottom lip. “That’s not true.” 

“It is,” Callum hiccups. “Everything you said–”

 _“I love you,_ ” Ben cuts him off, earnestly, wide-eyed and crying. 

“That’s not fair,” his shoulders heave as he speaks. _This isn’t love. This isn’t love. This isn’t love._ “Ben, you can’t just come here and pretend like—”

Ben smashes their mouths together, painful and biting and nothing like the kisses they’ve shared before, bruising and tasting of salted tears, ocean water that’s metallic and wrong. Callum makes a hurt noise in the back of his throat, screws up his face and clings so harshly to the bones of Ben’s wrists where they’re levelled at his face, because he’s scared they’re going to bend and break under the pressure. 

It doesn’t last long, because Callum breaks away, gasping, frantically searching for his breath in the dark, fingers slipping and clutching the fabric of Ben’s shirt, their cheeks sliding, faces resting against jaws and necks, all stuttered, harsh breathing and the uneven rise and fall of ribs. 

“I love you, Callum,” Ben … “I’ve loved you this whole time. And I was stupid and scared but I need you to know. _I love you so much_.” 

“Fuck, _Ben_ ,” he croaks, forcing himself not to kiss the smooth, warm spot that sits just below the hinge of Ben’s jaw, his favourite place to hide. 

“Please forgive me,” Ben sniffs, finger still in Callum’s hair, clinging to the collar of his shirt. “Please, Callum. I hate knowing how much I hurt you.”

“Yeah,” he whispers, voice cracking embarrassingly. “You know I’ll always forgive you. Always love you. You _know_ that.” 

“Then let's do it.” 

“Do what?”

“Be together.”

“You know I want that, Ben,” Callum says, searching for the words, for something that makes sense, heart so heavy it feels like it’s straining against the cage of his ribs. “You know I want that more than anything. But I can’t stay here, I can’t afford it. I can’t leave Lo, Stuart, _my Mum.”_

“I know, and that’s why I wouldn’t let you,” Ben whispers, nodding slowly. “I’m coming with you, _me and Jay,_ for a holiday, I suppose. I mean, it ain’t fair that only you two get one, me and Jay are entitled to, you know!” 

“You’re really coming with us?”

 _"Really_. Six months down in London,” Ben says, and it sounds like a dream Callum once imagined a nightmare. “Six months and then we’ll decide where we go from there.”

“Ben,” Callum whispers, and it’s so, so quiet. But it’s enough.  
  
It breaks.   
  
Hope, like a flower after rain, opens and blooms and takes root in Callum's chest. “I love you,” he echoes Ben’s words, and takes his hand. Their fingers slot together firm and familiar. “I love you too.”

Then, Ben throws himself forward, his arms circle Callum’s neck, his face pressed into his skin, and Callum is almost knocked backwards from the force of it, from how firmly Ben is holding him. Without thinking, his own arms wrap around Ben’s waist tightly, bringing them flush together, eyes clenched shut, just trying to let the moment sink in, memories the feeling of this, of all the warm places he’s hidden himself this summer, the comfort he’s taken in holding this boy. 

“If you still want me, I’ll come with you tomorrow,” Ben murmurs against his neck, pulling back slowly. He brushes a stray piece of hair off Callum’s forehead like habit, soft and shaky. “ _I’ll stay with you._ ”

“Okay,” Callum says again, ready and eager, mouth twisting into a smile. “Yeah, okay.” 

"God, I've missed you so much," Ben sighs, and his words are shaking, so Callum swallows up the sound, kissing back roughly.   
  
"I’ve been right here,” he speaks into Ben’s mouth and his voice is ruined, eyes growing heavier, the whole world blurring. He feels the tears welling up in his throat again, suffocating. "I've been right here, Ben. I've just been waiting for you."   
  
“Cal,” Ben says, voice tight. “I’m sorry, for everything. _I’m so sorry.”_ _  
_   
“It’s okay,” Callum whispers, but Ben shakes his head.   
  
“It’s not,” he says, links their fingers. “It’s not okay and I need you to let me be sorry. I don’t want to fuck this up again. You—you’re my happiness, Callum. You’re everything that’s good. So please, let me be sorry.”   
  
“Yeah,” Callum nods, and his eyes are going misty and hot and he hates that he’s about to cry but then Ben is pulling him back in, and he’s warm and safe and this might just be okay. “Say it again.”   
  
“I love you,” Ben gasps back into Callum’s mouth, a tidal wave of emotions crashing over him and sending him tumbling. His eyes spillover. “I love you so much,” he says as he drops another kiss to Callum’s lips. “So,” another, “fucking”, another, “much.”   
  
A ball of warmth spins in Callum’s chest, weighing on his lungs and stealing his breath, but it feels wanted, needed, somehow. 

Ben’s arms are still resting lightly by his hips, and Callum’s hands are still spread over Ben’s back, thumbs brushing at the dips there, and when they lean together, when their mouths brush whisper soft, he feels more alive than ever before.

He kisses Ben with abandon, with every last ounce of love that he's got to give. He closes his eyes, and gets lost in the achingly familiar feel of those lips. Suddenly it’s May again, his back against the rough wood of the bridge, Ben's tired eyes softening the late night. It’s dancing bodies and vodka-sweet lips. It's pencil stained hands in his own. It's every colour of the rainbow and more still. _It's love, every time._

Everything is clear, sharp—and suddenly Callum’s crying, his whole body racking around a sob as he kisses Ben’s mouth harder, storing away the moment in his mind like he can take it with him wherever he goes. 

"Ben—” He breathes, nuzzling his forehead against Callum’s, not caring for the crowds around them. His voice breaks as he starts to cry harder. “I love you.”

Ben tilts his head upwards, his mouth landing someplace near Callum’s ear. “I know,” he whispers, and his voice sounds strained with emotion, like he’s trying hard to keep himself together, and that makes Callum cry even more. “I know,” he whispers again, pressing his mouth bak to Callum's mouth, just breathing. 

After just three slow, shaking folds of their lips, Ben is moving away, warmth going with him, stepping just outside of the door to drag his suitcase in. 

It’s bursting at the seams, packed tight with all of Callum’s hopes and dreams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaahhh thank you so, so much for reading!!!
> 
> special shoutout to @ballym for this! amazing artwork & to @thepurplepanther for being the most wonderful beta - you've both been so brilliant and patient with me i honestly can't thank you enough.
> 
> i'm @dingletragedy on tumblr/twitter. comments and kudos are v appreciated. 
> 
> love u all x


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